The Shadow Riders
by KaleidescopeCat
Summary: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. The curious tale of two strange visitors to MiddleEarth... ::COMPLETE::
1. A Long Awaited Leave

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: Writing this is probably a huge cliché. But the idea refuses to leave me alone, so I decided to go ahead with it anyway. I am not using either the movie or books exclusively. Rather, this will be a combination of genre, since I feel both ways to tell the tale have their own separate merits. I also assume that the reader is somewhat familiar with the Lord of the Rings. I will not explain the story over again; if there is something that you do not understand, I suggest either reading the books or watching the movie. You have been duly warned.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter One: A Long Awaited Leave  
  
Rain may fall and wind may blow, And many miles be still to go, But under a tall tree I will lie, And let the clouds go sailing by.  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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When Captain Archer announced that they were approaching a planet of similar size and composition of Earth, there was a good deal of excitement among the crew of Enterprise. The planet, despite being uninhabited, provided a perfect opportunity for a little shore leave and recreation. Traveling through the Expanse, they had hardly any rest time, and the strain had begun to show. On the day of arrival, it was too late in the afternoon to begin shuttling down, so Captain Archer decided that the shore leave shifts would start early the next morning.  
  
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, upon receiving his lottery number, was quite pleased to find he was on the first shift. Though he was a noted workaholic, of late even he had begun to feel the stress of the hunt for the Xindi and could definitely use the few days off.  
  
"What day did you get?" asked Trip jovially as they left the mess hall, where the lottery results had been announced.  
  
"Tomorrow morning," Reed replied, holding up the padd. "Four days of rest and relaxation planet side. It will be quite nice, I think." He sighed with pleasure. "Quite nice indeed."  
  
"It's too bad we couldn't find an inhabited planet to take shore leave on," Trip said, elbowing his friend in the ribs and grinning.  
  
"After what happened on Risa, I think it's a bloody good thing that we didn't find an inhabited planet," Reed muttered. "Anyway, there are ruins. It was inhabited at one point, just not anymore."  
  
"I wonder what happened," Trip mused. "To the people who lived here, I mean."  
  
Reed shook his head. "I don't know. But every scan shows perfectly good atmosphere, nothing harmful to humans at all. Most of those ruins look thousands and thousands of years old so whatever happened, happened a very long time ago." He tapped the padd with one finger, staring into space. "Maybe they just all died out, or maybe they left and went wandering the stars."  
  
"Maybe we can look around when I get down there," said Trip. "I have the second leave shift, so I'll be down there for two days of your leave. We can go camping and exploring."  
  
"I'll look forward to it," said Malcolm, coming out of his reverie. "It's only ruins, after all, so there's very little chance of you picking up women that aren't actually women!" Thank God, he thought to himself. With Trip's record.....  
  
"Hey, I didn't hear you complaining," Trip said over his shoulder as he went into the turbolift. "Have fun, I'll see you in a few days."  
  
"See you," said Malcolm, and went off to his quarters to pack, wondering if he should bring a phase pistol just in case there were some mysterious women down there. You never knew with Trip; better to be prepared.  
  
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He was quite amused the next morning when Hoshi Sato showed up with her backpack slung over her shoulder, panting slightly as she heaved it into the shuttle bay. "Hello, Lieutenant! What are you going to see down there?"  
  
"I haven't decided yet. You?" he replied, lifting her bag off her shoulders and onto the floor. "Oof! What on earth have you got in here?"  
  
"Camera equipment," she said innocently. Malcolm looked at the petite communications officer and wondered how the hell she had managed to pick up the bag in the first place. "I'm going to look at some of the ruins down there."  
  
"How many cameras did you bring?" Reed said in amazement, hefting the bag once more as the shuttle pilot nodded to them. Hoshi scornfully raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Just one. Plus a Universal Translator in case I find something to translate and I need it, and some padds to store all the information. And clothes and a sleeping bag and a tent."  
  
Reed looked at the bag, then looked at Hoshi (who was smiling innocently) and back at the bag. "You've got to teach me how to pack someday," he said. "Which ones are you going to look at? Trip and I were going to hike around when he came down, but I could get an early start frolicking around the ruins if you'd like some company."  
  
Hoshi cocked an eyebrow at him again. "Sure, Lieutenant," she said, grinning; Reed's cheeks heated slightly as he realized what he had just said. "You can carry the camera!"  
  
"Hmm, perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all," Reed grumbled, picking the heavy backpack up once more and slinging it carefully over his shoulder next to his own. "Frolicking..... good one, Malcolm."  
  
He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until every single occupant of the shuttle started snickering loudly.  
  
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The pilot dropped them off last, since most of the others had wanted to go to the beaches on what equated to the western edge of the continent. Malcolm and Hoshi were much farther inland, out on the plains slightly north of a long, high mountain range running east to west. Scans of the planet had shown an extensive set of ruins some miles south of them at the very edge of the mountains. Hoshi and Malcolm planned to hike in, arriving a few hours before sunset, and then spend a day examining the ruins before Trip met them at the site.  
  
The wind howled around their ears as the shuttle ascended; Malcolm shivered and was glad he had thought to bring a heavier jacket. It was not cold, really, but the wind made the temperature feel a good bit lower than it actually was. "Well, let's get moving, Hoshi," he said, shouldering his pack.  
  
If he squinted, he could actually pick out the ruins, shadowed against the mountainside. Such a clear country---pity that there wasn't really anything like it left on Earth. Maybe New Zealand, he mused, having hiked there once on a half-term holiday trip. But pollution and war from earlier centuries had destroyed the absolute purity of the air, and nothing quite this unspoiled remained.  
  
"Are you coming, Malcolm?" said Hoshi, punching him in the arm.  
  
"Just looking at the view," he replied, rubbing his arm. When had Hoshi turned into Madeleine? "It's beautiful, isn't it?"  
  
"I never would have figured you for the type to gaze romantically into the distance," Hoshi giggled, reminding Reed even more of his sister.  
  
"I'm full of surprises," he said absently, picking his way down the steep slope of the hill. Hoshi giggled again and shook her head.  
  
"You certainly are, Lieutenant," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Let's go frolic, shall we?" Malcolm simply groaned as she flitted past him, laughing merrily, light on her feet despite the heavy pack on her slim shoulders.  
  
They walked all the morning, weaving to and fro among the foothills of the mountains. Such strange country it was, Reed mused. Extremely open and flat in places, and then suddenly extremely steep and hilly. They went up when they had to, checking their bearings from the tops of the round hills, and down again into the waving grasses. When the sun was directly overhead, finally warming the air a little, they stopped at the side of a meandering stream for a quick lunch.  
  
Malcolm, biting into a sandwich, tramped around the sandy banks, testing the water with one hand and shivering when the chill bit into his bare fingers. Hoshi sat on a log, eating her own sandwich and watching him idly wander. Suddenly the lieutenant's brow furrowed as he looked across the flowing water. Carefully he picked his way from stone to stone and went striding into the tall grasses.  
  
"What'd you find?" called Hoshi when she saw him bend down, half-obscured by the grasses.  
  
"Foundations!" he called back, adding something else that was lost in the noise of the wind. Hoshi jumped down from her perch and splashed right through the water, trusting to the Starfleet-issue waterproof boots to keep her feet dry and swearing when she discovered the stream was deeper than it looked. Cursing with enough vehemence to make Malcolm straighten and stare at her in shock, she fought through the grasses to his side.  
  
"I didn't know you knew words like that," he said.  
  
"I'm a linguist. It's my job to know words," Hoshi retorted.  
  
Malcolm grinned, a rare expression on his face. "You'd make a good Royal Navy officer with a mouth like that. Look, there used to be a building here. You can see a bit of the wall still." He pointed the stones out, barely half a meter high in the tallest places. "There are some chests half- buried here. Help me get them out," he said, kicking at the corner of a wooden box.  
  
The sandy soil came away easily, and in a few moments they had the box up from the dirt. Malcolm brushed the dirt off and pounded at the latch; the metal did not break, but the wood around it splintered, and after a minute of furious wrenching he managed to get it off. "What have we here?" he said, lifting a bundle of cloth out of the box. "Something heavy in this."  
  
The cloth, rotted with age, shriveled and fell away in shreds, revealing a round glass globe, swirling with smoke. Malcolm shook the last bits of cloth away and gazed at it; without warning he choked and fell backwards onto the grass. Hoshi gasped and tried to pull the black globe away from him, but as soon as she touched it her mind seemed to explode with fire and darkness.  
  
A pair of withered hands clawed at them through the fog, burning, burning!-- -and she tumbled backwards onto the grass, hearing an ancient, maleficent voice growl at them in a language that sounded familiar and yet absolutely foreign at the same time.  
  
Visions raced through her head and she screamed, and heard Malcolm's cries of anguish beside her, though she could not reach him. The groping hands flickered and puffed away like smoke. A pair of eyes gazed at them, a pair of eyes full of ancient wisdom and kindness, framed by snow-white hair and a long beard.  
  
He spoke to them, but neither understood his words, and they fell away from him, straying through fire and deep water, out of thought and time, while the stars wheeled over, wandering on roads that they would never after remember but as a brief but eternal dream, each moment as long as a life- age of the earth.  
  
Hoshi came back to herself with her cheek pressed against the wet ground and mud plastered in her hair. A deep twilight had fallen around them; carefully she looked up and saw fire over her. Screams echoed through the night, and the clashing of swords.  
  
"Malcolm?" she whispered, throat rasping, and turned her head from side to side looking for him. Feet rushed past her, booted feet with cruel iron spikes, and a throb of pain shot through her head, and she knew no more for a long while.  
  
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Malcolm woke and saw the hefty end of a spiked club swishing down at him. He rolled out of the way with a gasp and sprang to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that swept through his mind. He met the eyes of his attacker, glinting cruelly in the depths of a crude iron helmet. A white handprint shone from the top of the helmet, as if a child with finger paints had patted the grotesque thing on the head.  
  
Mind racing dimly, he saw the glint of metal on the ground nearby and dove for the sword, wresting it from the grasp of a dead man's fingers. The monstrous creature laughed and swung the club again, and this time Reed was not quick enough. It caught him full across the chest and he staggered backwards, gasping in pain as his ribs crunched and blood dampened his shirt. Getting his footing again, he lunged forward and caught the thing in the arm, which served more to make it angry than actually hurt it.  
  
Half crouching, he followed the angry creature with the tip of his blade as it circled around him, obviously readying itself for the kill. It darted in and struck; Malcolm dodged but the spikes slashed down the length of his thigh. With a cry he fell, dropping the sword and slipping to the ground.  
  
The monster---alien? Reed didn't know---raised the club with a sickening grin. Reed closed his eyes as the deadly spikes began to fall toward him. But the blow did not come; instead a hissing noise raced through the air and the creature fell backwards with a grunt. Malcolm, struggling to breath, opened his eyes and saw the monster lying on the ground, a black- fletched arrow protruding from its throat.  
  
A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him over. Reed stared at his rescuer, who was to all appearances human, trying to make sense of the green cloak, leather breastplate, and silver, crested helmet. The man spoke to him, looking worried, but Reed did not understand the words. He thought of Hoshi's Universal Translator, safely stowed in her pack, but looking around he could not see it anywhere.  
  
A crumpled figure in the mud, not far off, drew his eye. The warrior pressed him back down to the ground with a gentle admonition when he tried to move toward Hoshi. Reed pointed and croaked, "My friend! Help her!"  
  
The man understood Reed's words no more than Reed had understood his, but he followed the pointing finger and went at once to her side. Malcolm turned over, his chest burning as he watched the man examine Hoshi. Lifting her out of the mud, the man looked at him, nodding and smiling. Malcolm smiled back briefly, relieved.  
  
He called out in the strange language, and several more of the green- cloaked figures materialized out of the rain. The first warrior nodded to where Malcolm lay in the mud, and the others came over to the lieutenant. They grasped his shoulders and lifted him. Malcolm stayed conscious for a few minutes as they carried him through the rain, and then slipped into blackness to the sound of horses snorting and whinnying, and a voice comforting him in a language he did not understand.  
  
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Reviews always welcome! 


	2. The Gathering Gloom

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: WOW. That is the most reviews I have gotten for a single chapter EVER. Many profound thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Two: The Gathering Gloom  
  
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?  
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Hoshi awoke to soft voices whispering in the dark, in a language she did not understand. Her eyes refused to fully open; she caught a glimpse of burning candles here and there, a shadow of a woman walking from her bedside to the window; she felt the weight of a heavy, warm blanket over her body.  
  
The memory of the rain and mud, of the heavy booted foot and the sounds of fighting returned to her mind, and she cried out softly before she could stifle the sound. Immediately the whispering ceased and two forms hurried to her bedside, a young woman and a slightly older man, both with long waving golden hair. Their faces were like enough that Hoshi thought they must be related.  
  
She gazed at them both, the woman slender and tall and very fair, like a morning of pale spring, the man long-limbed and even taller, the summer's evening when the sun shines still brightly over the land below. They were very different than the crew of Enterprise, their attitudes stern and regal. Yet there was kindness too, and friendliness, in their eyes.  
  
The woman spoke in a low, calming voice, gently stroking her forehead. Hoshi did not know what she said, exactly, but from the expression on her face, thought that she might be asking Hoshi's name and where she came from. The man looked on, rather grimly, but still concerned.  
  
Hoshi, ducking away from the woman's hand, pulled herself up onto her elbows and looked around the room, taking in a low beamed ceiling and white- plastered walls. Other beds were spaced around the room, with still shapes lying beneath heavy gray or brown blankets. Looking down at herself, she saw that someone had dressed her in a long linen garment rather like a nightgown.  
  
She felt a touch on her arm and looked up to see the man holding out a cup of water. Gratefully she took it and drank slowly. He nodded briefly to her and to the golden-haired woman, lips turning up in a very slight smile, and padded softly out of the room.  
  
The woman sighed and then caught herself as she looked up at Hoshi. The ensign, not sure what she had just inadvertently witnessed, gazed down into the cup. Her head throbbed a little, but not too badly. She'd had worse hits to the head before.  
  
She looked up and met the golden-haired woman's pale eyes. "Hoshi," she said, voice rasping a little, and pointed to herself.  
  
"Hoshi," repeated the woman, and then repeated the gesture. "Éowyn."  
  
"Éowyn," repeated Hoshi, grinning back.  
  
When the golden-haired man returned to the sickroom, a few hours later, Hoshi had a grasp on a good many nouns and verbs and could somewhat make herself understood. Éowyn, who was apparently acting as nurse for the sickroom Hoshi was in, pointed out every object as she moved around the room, so Hoshi knew quite a bit of medical terminology now.  
  
She hadn't been able to make Éowyn understand that she wanted to know where Malcolm was---or else Éowyn simply didn't know where Malcolm was. When Éomer, the tall man who was indeed brother to the young woman, came back in, motioning to his sister, Hoshi caught only a word or two of his rapid speech. Éowyn gave her an apologetic look and rushed out of the room after her brother. They came back in a few minutes later, followed by two men bearing between them a still body on a stretcher. Hoshi saw the shock of black, spiky hair, very different from the long blonde and brown locks favored by these people, and jumped out of bed immediately, pulling the heavy blanket around her. "Malcolm!" she cried, trying to get a better look. Éomer caught her by the arm and held her out of the way until the stretcher-bearers reached the empty bed in the corner.  
  
Malcolm's chest was wrapped in bandages, as was his right thigh. He breathed in and out as if it took a great effort just to pull air through his lungs, and his face was very pale and drawn. Éomer and Éowyn carefully lifted him onto the bed. One of the stretcher-bearers spoke to Éomer in a hushed voice as Éowyn covered Reed with blankets.  
  
"Malcolm?" Hoshi whispered, creeping to the side of his bed. He stirred a little, opening his eyes, but did not answer her. Éowyn gently led the ensign away, murmuring comfortingly, something about healing and sleep. It was a moment before Hoshi realized that the young woman meant her and not Malcolm, but she allowed herself to be led back to bed.  
  
She turned on her side towards Reed and watched the lieutenant's chest rise and fall until she fell asleep, wondering all the while where in the universe they were, and wishing desperately that she were somewhere else.  
  
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When she next woke up, the shutters had been thrown open and sunlight streamed through the glass. Carefully, Hoshi sat up and looked around the room. Malcolm's chest still rose and fell, each breath rasping softly in the quiet room. Two of the beds that last night had held injured men were now empty; Hoshi hoped that they had merely recovered enough to be moved and not died. She felt the bruise on the side of her head gingerly, wincing as her fingers brushed across the tender area.  
  
At the foot of the bed, a bowl of water, a brush, and some clothes rested on a chair. Over the back a pale blue kirtle was neatly hung. She washed her face in the lukewarm water and combed the dirt out of her hair as best she could, then put on the long dress.  
  
Malcolm stirred a little, and Hoshi rushed to his side. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned softly. "Can you hear me, Malcolm?" she said softly, taking his hand in hers.  
  
His eyes opened a little wider, and he moved his head, blinking drowsily at her. "Hoshi," he murmured. "Did you...."  
  
She waited for a second, but he didn't finish his sentence. "Did I what?"  
  
"Did you get.... the number of that shuttle?" he whispered, squeezing her hand. "Think it ran me over."  
  
Hoshi choked back a snort. "You're turning into Trip," she laughed. He blinked at her, still smiling sleepily, and shook his head just a little bit.  
  
"Where's Trip now?" he murmured.  
  
"I think the better question is, where are we?" Hoshi said. "Do you remember what happened?"  
  
"Little bits," he said. "Black ball and fiery hands.... I don't know...."  
  
Hoshi could see he was dropping off again, so she bit back her questions and let him drift off to sleep again. When he was breathing slowly and steadily, eyes closed tight, she let go of his hand and slipped out of the room.  
  
The hall was long and low; she tiptoed past other open doors with voices chattering merrily in that strange language. A few words she caught, remembering them from Éowyn's lessons the day before, but she knew she would have to hear a great deal more than that to get a handle on the language. She did not think they were prisoners, but even so, it was best to be careful.  
  
At the end of the hall, a steep stairway led up a narrow, dark passage. Swallowing hard, Hoshi went up the stairs and found herself in the corner of a vast hall. She had read Beowulf in high school, and this place looked the way she had imagined Hrothgar's great hall, Heorot. She stared around in amazement, looking at the colorful and rather threadbare wall hangings, all depicting horses and riders. Hoshi stopped before one, a great woven tapestry with a young man riding a white horse. Alone of all the others sunlight fell upon it, and to Hoshi, the horse seemed to leap out of the woven water and into the hall.  
  
She stood before it for a few moments, but the rest of the hall was fair to behold as well. Hoshi looked up and down at the mighty pillars holding up the roof, and wondered at the rainbow of colored stones beneath her bare feet, carved runes and designs branching away across the floor.  
  
At the opposite end, there was a raised dais, and on it was a great gilded chair. Hoshi started in surprise when she realized that the lump of cloth sitting in it was an old man, bearded in white and hunched deep into his furs. A crown rested on his white hair, a single bright jewel sparking in the middle. His eyes, blue and rheumy, gazed straight at her, but for all their piercing stare Hoshi did not think he saw her at all. She stood there, staring at the old man, until a hand on her shoulder broke the reverie.  
  
Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a pale, greasy wraith of a man. He spoke fiercely, but she did not understand, and could only shake her head in terror. His eyes, shadowed and red-rimmed, creased in fury, and he threw her towards the stair she had come up from. Shaking, Hoshi leapt up from the ground and flew back down the stairs to the long hallway. She crashed right into Éowyn at the bottom. The young woman's eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"Gríma Wormtongue," she said in disgust and shook her head, jaws clenched in anger. Hoshi looked from Éowyn back up the stairs---she did not want to tangle with that particular denizen of this world again.  
  
She followed Éowyn around the city all day, helping the young woman with her duties, Hoshi's sensitive ears picking up on the language quickly. It was far easier when there were more people around for her to listen to, and by early evening she understood nearly all of what was being said, or at the very least could pick up the gist of it if she didn't know all the words.  
  
The city---village, by Earth standards, Hoshi thought---lay under a perpetual gloom. The people spoke quietly and urgently, even in the most mundane of affairs, and many furtive glances were thrown at Meduseld, the golden hall of Théoden king. The thought of the tattered old man on the throne as king made Hoshi shudder, more so when she learned that Gríma Wormtongue was his chief advisor.  
  
"Indeed, he is the only person my uncle listens to these days," spat Éowyn, carefully unwrapping a packet of herbs and stirring them into a bubbling pot. They had returned to the hall with medicines and supplies for the injured. "He will not speak to Éomer or myself any longer. Sometimes my cousin Theodred is able to gain his father's ear, but he has been away at the northern borders with a company of the Rohirrim."  
  
"Rohirrim?" asked Hoshi, handing Éowyn the packet of herbs she pointed at.  
  
"The army. The riders. Men who fight." There was a curious hint of resentment in her voice when the young woman spoke, but Hoshi couldn't quite figure out how to ask what the cause of that was. She sighed, thinking longingly of the Universal Translator stowed in her pack, somewhere else in the universe, somewhere that was most definitely not here. Poor Malcolm---he was going to have a time of it when he got well enough to get around, not having her linguistic talents.  
  
She didn't want to think about Malcolm, though, because every time she did her stomach tightened and her mind sent shivers of worry down her back. Éowyn's expression when she had asked how badly he was hurt had been enough to tell her how serious his injuries were.  
  
"Orcs have been attacking the villages for a fortnight now," Éowyn was saying. "We had heard rumors that Saruman had turned against us and joined with the Dark Lord in Mordor. Word from Rivendell spoke of it, and yet the king does not listen. And my brother says that he has seen new, terrible orcs---Uruk-Hai, they are called. They attacked your village and we hardly managed to get anyone out alive."  
  
"Not my village," Hoshi said, inwardly cursing her still scant vocabulary. "I came from another place."  
  
Éowyn leaned back from the bubbling medicine and smiled. "I guessed as much, my friend, since your tongue is one I have never before heard. Where is your home?"  
  
Hoshi Grímaced. "I come from Earth," she said slowly.  
  
Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "As do we all. MiddleEarth. Your face is a little like to that of the peoples of the East, far past the country of Rhûn. Is that where you are from?"  
  
How to explain the concept of space travel to a people living in a feudal medieval society? Hoshi thought furiously, and then took Éowyn's hand, drawing her towards the window where a few stars were visible in the twilight sky. "I come from another Earth," she said, pointing up into the heavens. "Another planet" ---leaving the word 'planet' in English, not knowing its equivalent here---"and I.... walked far?"  
  
"Journeyed?" supplied Éowyn. "Traveled?"  
  
"Journeyed across the stars," said Hoshi. Éowyn looked at her, baffled.  
  
"I have never heard of such a thing. Are you sure you are saying the right words?"  
  
Hoshi sighed and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I cannot explain it."  
  
"Well, perhaps when you learn more," Éowyn replied, patting her on the shoulder. "I have never seen anyone speak a new tongue so quickly, so it will not be long, I think."  
  
"Perhaps," said Hoshi. "I don't know if I can say the right words to explain, ever." Éowyn smiled sadly, pouring the pot of medicine into a heavy brown pitcher. She handed a tray of cups to Hoshi and they went out into the hallway towards the sickrooms.  
  
"We will help you, until you may regain the words," said Éowyn as she set the pitcher down by the first bed. "You are welcome in this hall as long as I am mistress of it, unless my uncle should say otherwise. But as he has been inclined to say little at all of late, I do not think he will object."  
  
Hoshi nodded her thanks and went to see Malcolm. He was feverish and restless, tossing and turning in his sleep with soft moans. The bandages around his chest were mussed; Hoshi straightened them carefully. She ran her hand along his forehead, and he quieted. "Hoshi," he said clearly in his sleep, and then murmured softly, so softly that she could not make out the words.  
  
"It'll be all right, Malcolm," she said in English. "Once you wake up and get well we'll go back and find out what happened. Éowyn and Éomer are quite nice, though they seem a little formal at first. They'll help us. We'll get back to Enterprise. You'll see." She did not voice any of the unanswered questions in her mind regarding how exactly that would happen; he had enough to worry about at the moment. Dipping a cloth in cool water and wiping his forehead, she murmured to him in a mix of English and the Common Speech of MiddleEarth until Éowyn called out to her. She cast a look back over her shoulder, wishing she were strong enough of heart to stay and sit by him, but the tide of panic that rose in her whenever she thought of their situation only worsened when she saw a familiar face. Keeping busy by helping Éowyn and learning the language let her forget the worry.  
  
And so she went after Éowyn, leaving Malcolm murmuring in his sleep, and hoping that his dreams were more pleasant than what, at the moment, passed for reality.  
  
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Just to warn you now, updates may not be quite so regular because school is getting a little busier. But I've never yet left a story unfinished, and though the road may be long, eventually the journey will reach its destination. 


	3. The Rohirrim Ride Away

Disclaimer: Enterprise and related characters belong to Paramount Pictures; Lord of the Rings and related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: As it says in the first chapter, I'm not using either the books or the movie exclusively. It's a little of both, although it probably leans more towards the movie in terms of plot. But elements of both will be incorporated (including, eventually, a chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality....).  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 3: The Rohirrim Ride Away  
  
As before Legolas was first afoot, if indeed he had ever slept. "Awake! Awake!" he cried. "It is a red dawn. Strange things await us by the eave of the forest. Good or evil, I do not know; but we are called! Awake!"  
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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The monster was coming.... The huge spiked club swung this way, and that, and his legs would not move quickly enough to dodge the blows. He fell under a rain of battering hits, drowning in the mud....  
  
Malcolm woke up slowly, his tongue dry in his mouth and his leg and chest throbbing with a dull, persistent pain. He could not open his eyes; every time he tried, they simply flopped back down again, as if someone had tied lead weights to his eyelashes. His breath sounded loud in his own ears, rasping a little and sending little flickers of fire through his ribs. Broken ribs, he amended himself, knowing more than he wanted about what that felt like. Surely, though, Phlox was buzzing around here somewhere with a hypospray and a tissue regenerator and he'd be feeling much better soon.  
  
But as he managed, finally, to get his eyes open and staying that way, he realized that unless Sickbay had somehow turned into a medieval feudal estate, he was probably not on Enterprise. He gazed at the low-beamed ceiling, baffled, until his stuffy brain reminded him that he wasn't supposed to be on Enterprise anyway. This was his shore leave.  
  
That thought hung around for a while---he was on shore leave, how nice--- until he remembered that he and Hoshi had gone hiking with the intent of exploring some ruins on the now-unpopulated planet and found some curious artifacts....  
  
Now he remembered everything, from digging up the box to taking on whatever that hideous creature had been. Thinking back, he even had some hazy thoughts of waking up here once or twice before. Hoshi had been there; he seemed to remember other women too, old and young, moving around the room. Golden hair and blue, solemn eyes popped into his head, and a thought of cool water on his tongue.  
  
"Hello?" he croaked, hoping someone would bring him some. Carefully he eased himself up onto his eyes, gasping at the movement in stiff muscles. Obviously he had been here for a while, judging by how his arms protested at their use. "Does anyone...water, please?" His parched tongue betrayed him, refusing to shape the words properly.  
  
"Malcolm!" cried a familiar voice, and a flurry of movement raced across the room, black hair flying. Hoshi pushed him back down onto his back (his arms cheered) and fumbled with a cup of water, spilling some over his shoulders before she got it to his mouth. Reed didn't care; he drained the cup, thirstier than he could ever remember being in his life. No I.V.s , he told himself. No hypos. Dehydration probably set in quickly around here.  
  
"You're awake!" said Hoshi, feeling his forehead. "I was so worried, it's been almost three days since the last time you woke up."  
  
"How long---how long have we been here?" Reed stuttered, forcing his throat to behave normally.  
  
"Seven days now," Hoshi told him. "Your fever went down, too. I think your scrapes got infected. Êowyn said those orcs are not ever very clean, and you were in the mud a while too."  
  
"Orc," repeated Reed. So that was what it was. An orc. "What's an orc?" he asked, reaching for the water cup again.  
  
"Éowyn said they used to be Elves," Hoshi replied, gently putting it into his still-shaky hand. "But I guess something horrible happened to make them turn into orcs. She says Elves are the complete opposite but she didn't know how to really explain them to me. Elves are immortal and more beautiful than any human, but they're sailing away to the west, I guess to that smaller continent that the captain thought was too dangerous for shore leave."  
  
Reed, slightly surprised at Hoshi's steady stream of talk, realized that she was merely relieved. He had missed the undertone of worry in her babble. Gently he laid his hand on her arm, squeezing comfortingly. "It's all right, Hoshi," he said. She blushed and took his hand.  
  
"You can't imagine how worried I've been," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "I thought you would die and I would be trapped here alone with no one to tell that I wasn't crazy for believing you could fly through the stars."  
  
"Where is here, exactly?" said Malcolm, not trusting himself to respond at all coherently to her last sentence in any other way. Maddie used to do that, too, completely disarm all his protests and mental faculties in general with one little tear streaking down her cheek.  
  
Hoshi laughed softly and wiped her eyes. "Middle Earth. Where in the great wide galaxy that's supposed to be, I don't know. We're in the country of Rohan, which is a nation of humans. Or Men, as they say. I guess there are others too to the south and far north. I can't remember the names. But there are other things besides humans. Éowyn's told me about Elves, of course, but there are Orcs and Trolls and Dwarves and things like that, too. It's like we walked into a fairytale."  
  
Reed closed his eyes. "I think I must still be dreaming," he said. "Are we crazy?"  
  
"Maybe," said Hoshi, her voice shaky. "I've been looking at the stars every night, Malcolm, trying to see if there's one that could be Enterprise. You know, moving strangely, like satellites around Earth you can tell aren't stars." She sighed wistfully. "Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough."  
  
"They'll find us," said Malcolm firmly. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at Hoshi, who gave him a grin back.  
  
"I'm so glad you're actually talking this time," said Hoshi. "Well, lucidly, at least. You were a little delirious for a while. I thought we were going to lose you." She held his hand, gripping so tightly that the bones crunched together, but Reed didn't let go. He knew well enough when someone needed reassurance; despite his appearance of being antisocial, he was a good judge of people and mood. And truth to tell, though he hardly admitted it even in his own mind, he needed some himself.  
  
A soft voice behind the two startled both of them. Malcolm raised his eyes to behold a golden vision of curly hair and pale eyes---the woman he remembered in fits and snatches---and probably the Éowyn Hoshi spoke of. She spoke to Hoshi briefly and smiled at Reed.  
  
"She says you should try and drink a little more, and then sleep again," Hoshi repeated as Éowyn glided away. Reed watched her go and wondered anew at this strange place they had come to.  
  
Hoshi smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop that!" she cried angrily.  
  
"Ow! What? Stop what?"  
  
"You're such a MAN sometimes," she said in exasperation.  
  
"Well, yes," Malcolm replied, definitely not letting that one pass. "Last time I checked I was." He grinned as widely as he could manage.  
  
She smacked him again and shook her head.  
  
"When did you turn into my sister?"  
  
"When you decided to take on an Orc and get your ribs smashed to bits, that's when," said Hoshi, handing him the cup of water. He drank deeply again, his throat still feeling a little scratchy. "Someone has to look after you."  
  
He smiled at her and settled back down into the pillow, eyes already drooping a bit. "Thank you, Hoshi," he said before he drifted off, so softly that he wasn't sure if she heard. He hoped she did.  
  
**********************  
  
It was two days before Éowyn would allow him out of bed at all, and then he could only limp across the sickroom and back. The other recuperating patients in the room gave him lessons in their language, pointing out objects and pantomiming actions, and laughing hugely when he tried to pronounce the more difficult words. But he was slow to learn it, not having Hoshi's gift of tongues. She herself spoke the Common Speech, as she called it, quite fluently by then, but refused to translate anything for him unless it was absolutely essential.  
  
"You have to learn the language, Malcolm," she said firmly. "You're not going to do that having me translate everything for you. We're surrounded by people speaking the Common Speech. It'll come soon enough."  
  
"I'm going to forget proper English," he grumbled. "I'll never be able to show my face in England again."  
  
"We'll get you a Universal Translator," Hoshi snapped. "Set to London Standard or Dorset Speech or whatever the hell you want. So I don't see why it should be a problem. Go try the verbs again."  
  
Another week passed before he could get around well enough to leave the Hall of Meduseld and go out into the city of Edoras. He stood on the top of the steps of the Golden Hall and looked out at the white stream rushing down from the snows of the mountains, flowing away east to a wide reed- choked river. The land was slowly turning greener, feeling the approach of spring: in the wet meads and along the grassy borders of the stream grew many willow trees. Already in this southern land they were blushing red at their fingertips.  
  
The wind blew unceasingly here in Rohan, whipping across the walls of the city and flattening the grasses on the plain. Though Éowyn told him (with a little help from Hoshi in translating) that this land was much warmer than the far countries of the north, he could stand it for only a little while before shivering and retreating back into the warm hall. Living on a climate-controlled starship did little to help one's appreciation for the tricks of the weather.  
  
He wandered about the city when he was well enough, lingering long at the smithies and the armory, full of bright shining swords and helms, mail- coats and shields, all the gear of the Rohirrim. In his own way he was a warrior, but not compared to these broad-shouldered riders who wielded swords that he could barely pick up with the ease of a child swinging a wooden stick.  
  
At times Hoshi wandered along with him, giving him language lessons and making sure he did not tire himself out. "Because," she told him, "I know that when you say, I'm fine, you really mean, I'm bloody well tired as all get out." But more often she helped Éowyn with the duties of running Meduseld and, indeed, most of the city, since the King, Théoden, was barely capable of ruling any longer, and the heir to the throne, Prince Théodred, was too often away trying to defend his country from the vicious raids of the wizard Saruman.  
  
Reed did not know what a king was supposed to look like, or act like, since his Earth had long ago abandoned that type of rule, but he did not think the huddled mass of furs that sat dreaming on the throne was anything like it.  
  
He watched Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Mark, ride out with a company of Rohirrim to the villages on the Westfold one rainy day, wrapped snugly in a gray-brown wool cloak as he stood in the watchtower. It was two days later-- -their twenty-second day in the city---when the company came back, wet and dripping from the spring rains, carrying wounded across their horses with grim faces.  
  
Reed followed Éowyn and Hoshi to the doors of Meduseld as Éomer rushed up the steps with a sodden, limp form clasped in his arms. "Cousin!" cried Éowyn as she recognized the shallowly breathing figure and rushed down the steps. Her brother gave Hoshi and Malcolm a grim look and let himself be herded towards the sickrooms, still carrying his cousin in his arms.  
  
"What happened to them?" whispered Malcolm in English. For once Hoshi didn't give him a stern look for not trying to speak in the language of Middle Earth, and simply sighed.  
  
"Orcs again, probably," she said. "Like we've been hearing about these three weeks. Always orcs. And Éowyn and Éomer are worried because the king does nothing, yet somehow Grimá Wormtongue always manages to supersede their authority with a signed proclamation whenever they try to do anything."  
  
Reed shook his head. He had had a short encounter with the pale greasy advisor to the king and disliked the man immensely, going out of his way to avoid him after that. Hoshi had told him of the man's obvious desire for the lovely Éowyn, and Malcolm hoped for her sake Éowyn did not return the feelings. Such a man should never be allowed near a woman, much less one so beautiful as the king's niece.  
  
"He thinks we are spies from Gondor, whatever that is," said Reed, still speaking in English. "I think he is a traitor. I think he is in league with this wizard fellow, the one with the white hand."  
  
"And what are we loitering about here for, spies?" said an oily voice in Common Speech behind them. Both Hoshi and Malcolm started, not having heard the slimy little advisor come up. "Collecting information to bring down an invasion upon us?"  
  
"No," said Hoshi coldly. "We are not spies, how many times do I have to tell you, worm?"  
  
"Watch your tongue, wench," said Grimá. "I have the king's ear and you do not, and it is but for his kindness that you stay here in this hall. Some will leave today. Perhaps you should go with them?"  
  
Neither of them replied; they merely stared back at the man with icy glares. "I thought not," he said, twisting his lips into the semblance of a smile, and strode past them into the hall with a billow of his cloak.  
  
"We should go," said Hoshi at last in the Common Speech, after a long silence in which only the howling ever-present wind screamed in their ears. "Stop speaking in English. You'll never learn otherwise."  
  
"Yes, Queen Hoshi," muttered Malcolm in the same language. "How do you say 'tyrant'?"  
  
Neither of them thought any more on the strange words that Grimá Wormtongue had threatened them with outside the doors of the Golden Hall. Only when the call to muster was sounded did they go outside, drawn by the surprised shouts of the people in the city and the clang of armor and steel. The company of Rohirrim were mounted and ready to leave, lead by a red-faced and furious Éomer, his hand drawn tight around his sword Gúthwinë and the other on the reins of his horse. He spotted Hoshi and Malcolm standing near the doors to the lower levels of Meduseld and nodded, face still grim.  
  
They pushed past the people in the crowd as the Rohirrim began to ride out. Éomer checked his horse until Hoshi and Malcolm drew close enough to hear him, and then shouted something at them, speaking too quickly for Malcolm to catch. Then he turned and spurred on the horse, galloping down the hill after the riders of the Mark  
  
"What did he say?" asked Malcolm when they could no longer see the riders and the dejected people of Edoras had begun to trickle back to their homes.  
  
Hoshi looked over her shoulder into the distance, where the Rohirrim had disappeared into the shadowy hills to the north. For a long moment she did not answer, gazing at the horizon with sorrow written on her features.  
  
"He said, 'If he touches my sister, kill him for me'," she said, looking straight at Malcolm. "He was talking to you."  
  
***********************  
  
YAY!!!! New chapter!!! I love writing this story. It's so much fun. Thanks for all the reviews! Suggestions, comments, concerns always welcome. 


	4. The King of the Golden Hall

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters belong to Paramount. Lord of the Rings and all related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. But the combination is all mine!  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Some of the questions posed I will attempt to answer in this chapter but you have to look for them. Otherwise, what's the fun of me just TELLING you?  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 4: The King of the Golden Hall  
  
"Alas," he said, "that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned! Alas for Boromir the brave! The young perish and the old linger, withering."  
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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"All of the groups have checked in except Reed and Sato," said Sub- Commander T'Pol as Captain Archer and Commander Tucker walked onto the bridge from the turbolift. "They are two hours and eleven minutes overdue."  
  
"Have you tried to get their communicators?" asked Archer. The look T'Pol gave him answered that question; logically it would be the first thing she'd try, of course. He bit his lip back and added, "No response at all?"  
  
"The communicators are functioning perfectly. Their failure to respond is not due to mechanical error," said T'Pol calmly.  
  
"What could they be doing that they would be two hours late to check in and ignore your hails?" said Archer. Trip, standing at his shoulder, snorted explosively. The captain rolled his eyes and chose to ignore that.  
  
"Well, come on, Jon, you gotta admit them going down there, just the two of them," whispered Trip, still snickering.  
  
"I do not believe Lieutenant Reed would be so irresponsible as to forget his check-in time for mere copulation," said T'Pol, perfectly serious. Archer rolled his eyes again and wondered if she sometimes just said things like that because she knew it would set Trip off. "Furthermore," she added, "it is fraternization between ranks and against Starfleet regulations."  
  
"I'll have one of the shuttle pilots swing by and check on them," said Archer as the engineer turned bright red from trying not to laugh. "Trip, isn't there something you can take care of in Engineering?"  
  
Trip made it as far as the turbolift before he let out a great guffaw. The doors slid shut and the bridge crew could still hear him chuckling until the lift went down too far for the sound to carry any farther.  
  
Archer sighed. "Do you say these things on purpose?" he asked T'Pol.  
  
"I do not understand, Captain," she replied, with one eyebrow elegantly raised.  
  
"Never mind," he told her, and turned to the pilot's station. "Travis, you feel like doing a little flying around?"  
  
"Aye sir!" said the young pilot. "See if I can find Hoshi and Malcolm?"  
  
"Bring them back up here," said Archer. "They're probably fine, but if they're going to miss check-in times and ignore hails, then I don't want them down there."  
  
Mayweather hopped up from the console and beckoned one of the crewmen to take his place. "I'll get them," he promised earnestly. "Even if they are copulating," he added, with a perfectly straight face.  
  
Archer couldn't hold it in and ran for the ready room. It just wouldn't do, if the crew saw their captain convulsed in fits of laughter.  
  
But an hour later he was no longer laughing: Travis found two packs and footprints in the sand, and a curious wooden box, but no sign of either of the missing officers. Tracks marked a path to a low stone wall, ruined for eons, and then simply vanished into thin air. No tracks leading away from the site. No other tracks to tell what might have happened. Nothing at all.  
  
They had simply vanished.  
  
**********************  
  
Hoshi sat on the high steps in front of the Golden Hall, her hair flying in black clouds around her ears. She gazed down at the streets of Edoras below, watching the noon bustle of the city folk below. A few of them, passing close to the Hall, looked up at her; some smiled and nodded, others turned away after an uneasy glance. To a people who were very European in appearance (Hoshi knew that there was no Europe here but she couldn't find another way to characterize their appearance) she seemed very exotic indeed. A similar sort of feeling probably existed in European countries and America when Asians first started immigrating to those mainly Caucasian countries. She wondered what they would make of Travis. Or T'Pol. Or Phlox.  
  
Thinking of her crewmates on Enterprise, by now surely presuming her and Malcolm dead, she felt the prickle of tears at the edges of her eyes. It had been nearly a month since they'd come to this strange place, and still she could not recall her old home without wanting to weep. It was part of the reason she had thrown herself so much into every task she could find, helping Éowyn with the administration of the Hall and Edoras and teaching Malcolm the Common Speech. She knew he thought her emphatic teaching overly zealous. But she didn't care. Whatever it took, she would not break down. She must get through this with her sanity intact.  
  
From the yards around the side of the Hall she heard the men training. She didn't have to look to know Malcolm would be among them, breathing heavily and ignoring his still-healing ribs as he tried to learn the arts of sword fighting and archery. Éomer's proclamation he had taken straight to heart, and for the three days since the Marshal had been banished, he had wrung himself to a dripping rag trying to get back into fighting shape.  
  
Hoshi privately thought it a bit insane. Men---they just had to know that they could kill whatever came their way. Well, no, she knew was being unfair as soon as she thought it. Malcolm was not a killer.  
  
Of course, it was much easier to be a pacifist when one could simply set the setting on the phase pistol to stun.  
  
Hoshi sighed. Both she and Éowyn had told him he was only going to aggravate his ribs but he went out anyway. Stubborn Malcolm, always so stubborn. But she was glad he was here all the same.  
  
And according to the men, he was a rather good shot with a bow and arrows. "Eyes of an Elf!" they said, patting him on the back. "Now, can you do it from the back of a horse?"  
  
She sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing he was adjusting to this life. At the moment it seemed rather unlikely that they would ever get back to Enterprise.  
  
The door to the Hall slammed and Éowyn strode out, her normally pale cheeks flushed and angry, her sea-blue eyes burning with cold fire. She passed right by Hoshi and simply stood, gazing out to the grassy plains around the city, golden hair blowing across her face and shoulders. The wind was very fierce that day, indeed. A green and gold flag above her tore from the standard with a great rip and tumbled on the wind down the hill.  
  
"Éowyn," Hoshi said softly. The woman started and then turned around, and Hoshi saw the tears in her eyes, welling like springs in the desert.  
  
"Oh, my friend, that I should live in such evil times," murmured the young woman. Her eyes grew very round and her cheeks paled. "Théodred is dead, Hoshi. And his father will not go to the body. I fear that he does not even hear my words. And always that foul Wormtongue is pacing my steps." Almost unconsciously her hand went to her cheek; Hoshi grew very still.  
  
"If he comes near you Malcolm will protect you," said Hoshi quietly. Éowyn gave her an amazed look.  
  
"I can protect myself, my friend," she answered. "I have not trained in the use of a blade for years for nothing. Wormtongue is only a threat to my country. Not to me."  
  
Hoshi did not mention Éomer's words as he rode from the city. Instead she gazed down the hill, tracing the path of the green flag as it reached the gates and went up and over the wall in a flutter of wind.  
  
"Our country flaps like that banner," said Éowyn softly. "Pulled from the standard and tumbling in the wind with no control whatsoever."  
  
But Hoshi had stopped watching the flag. "Look, Éowyn," she cried, jumping to her feet. "Riders! Who are they?"  
  
"Riders? Who comes to Edoras?" said Éowyn softly, drawing away from the edge of the steps. "Naught but more of Wormtongue's lackeys, no doubt." She turned from the view and went back inside, shoulders set with anger.  
  
Hoshi stayed and watched as the three riders made their way up the hill. No, not three, four---one smaller man rode behind a taller companion, his legs too short to easily control the big horse. A very old man, dressed in gray, his beard and hair long and white, rode a great white horse whose like Hoshi had never seen. She did not have the practiced eye of even a child of Rohan, but one could not live in Edoras for even a short time and not pick up something about judging horses.  
  
The second man, his face strange looking and weather-beaten, gazed upwards at her. She knew that he saw her standing there and was unaccountably unnerved by his gaze. Hoshi drew back from the ledge but still she felt his eyes upon her, bearing deep into her mind and soul. A lion of a man, this one, strong and powerful but graceful and noble at the same moment.  
  
And the other horse, the one with two riders, bore the strangest of all. The first rider sat with a light, confident seat, his straight white-blond hair neatly falling over his shoulders, whipping idly in the breeze. He rode with a slender grace, his hands gentle on the reins. His companion, a short round man with a long reddish beard, clutched the blonde one's waist with considerably less grace.  
  
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," said the little one; Hoshi saw the people quickly look at him and then cringe away. Surely he did not know of the prince's death, or his words would not be so harsh. They grieved for king and heir, the latter dead for all time, the former as good as dead before his time.  
  
She drew back behind one of the carved pillars, staying in the shadow as the four dismounted and climbed the steps to the Golden Hall. Háma, the Doorward, stepped forward to meet them, his guards tall and straight behind his back. Hoshi's fists clenched; Háma stayed out of fierce loyalty to the king, but the rest of the men there were loyal to Wormtongue and not Théoden.  
  
"Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter," said Háma. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." A look of disgust crossed his face. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue." The words left his tongue as if he had tasted something foul (and so he had, Hoshi thought), but he kept his shoulders tall and straight, obeying his king's will even if the king could no longer deliver sane orders.  
  
The blonde man stepped forward first, handing two long knives, a quiver of arrows, and an elaborately carved bow to the hands of the guards. "Keep these well," he said sternly, "for they come from the Golden Wood and the Lady of Lothlórien gave them to me."  
  
"It is not my will to put aside my sword or to deliver it to the hand of any other man," said the dark-haired man slowly, stepping up himself.  
  
"It is the will of Théoden," said Háma.  
  
"This is idle talk," said the white-haired man in annoyance. "Here at least is my sword, goodman Háma. Keep it well." He handed it to Háma. "Now let me pass. Come, Aragorn!"  
  
"Here I set it," said the dark man, called Aragorn. "I command you not to touch it."  
  
"Well," said the short one, "if it has Aragorn's sword to keep it company, my axe may stay here, too, without shame. Now, then, if that is all as you wish, let us go and speak with your master."  
  
Háma, though, did not move. "Your staff," he said, nodding at the long white wooden stick held fast in the old man's hand.  
  
"Hmm?" said the old man innocently. "Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking-stick, would you?" Háma, still looking reluctant, nodded once and then stepped aside. The odd company went inside.  
  
Hoshi shivered. She had noticed just as the golden-haired one had set down his arrows that his ears were pointed, sweeping up in an elegant curve from his temples. An elf, then, one of that mysterious ancient race of which Éowyn had told her stories. And his short companion with the great beard must be a dwarf then, the diggers of metal from under mountains, carriers of axes and fierce tempers.  
  
A hand on her shoulder startled her out of the bemused reverie, and she spun around, heart racing. But it was only Malcolm, face smudged with dust and soot. He smelled of metal and smoke. "You were in the smithy again," said Hoshi. "You smell horrible."  
  
He grinned. "Sorry. I shall have to have a bath, I suppose. What's the matter with you?"  
  
"Some very strange people just came to the door," said Hoshi. "Come on. I want to see who they are." She took his hand and pulled him into the Hall behind her, getting no trouble from the doorguards since they had followed the odd visitors into the Hall a few moments before.  
  
To their very great surprise the king's eyes were open, burning with a bright light, and gazing straight at the white-bearded man. "Truth to tell your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf," said Théoden, voice raspy from disuse. "You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"  
  
Hoshi drew Malcolm around the edges of the Hall. They would not be welcome here if they were seen, but perhaps if they stayed on the fringes, they could see what was happening. Never before had the king spoken or looked so very alert as now, which, Hoshi amended, was still not as alert as a normal person by any means.  
  
"A just question, my liege," said Gríma with a sneer, rising from the dais on which he had been seated. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer of cheap tricks chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him; ill news is an ill guest."  
  
"A witless worm you have become! Therefore be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!" said Gandalf. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls." He raised his white staff and a peal of thunder cracked through the Hall. Wormtongue hissed and drew back against the king's throne.  
  
"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff! That fool, Háma, has betrayed us all!" cried the pale advisor, shrinking away from the terrifying visage of the white-bearded Gandalf. Hoshi gazed in amazement as the old man strode forward, gleaming staff in hand, and said in a powerful voice:  
  
"Théoden, son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows! Harken to me! I release you from the shadows!" He stood just before the dais; the king raised his head a little and began to laugh as the eyes of the two old men met and gazed deep at the other. Behind Gandalf Gríma's followers fought with the old man's three companions as they tried to get to the dais, but they were no match for the fierce defense of the man, elf, and dwarf. Malcolm, beside her, gasped in awe of the fighting skills. But Hoshi's eyes were still drawn to the battle of wills between the old men before the dais.  
  
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" said the king, his eyes widening with laughter. Gandalf's face hardened, and he threw off his grey cloak. All present in the hall gasped as a blinding white light shone forth from the old man's shoulders. Théoden cried out and threw himself away from the brilliant glare, twisting in his chair.  
  
"I draw you out, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" cried the white figure. Out of the corner of her eye Hoshi saw Éowyn rush into the hall and gasp at the sight of her uncle threatened on his very throne. The dark- haired one, Aragorn, caught her arms and held her back, whispering, "Wait!"  
  
"If I go, Théoden dies," the king said. Both Hoshi and Malcolm looked at each other, completely baffled.  
  
"You did not kill me.... You will not kill him!" said Gandalf, raising his staff higher. The king drew back, hissing.  
  
"Rohan is mine!"  
  
"Be gone!" said Gandalf. The ancient king lunged off the chair; Gandalf smote him a blow to the forehead and he fell backwards, gasping and moaning.  
  
"What just happened?" whispered Malcolm to Hoshi, who shook her head numbly. Something important, she had no doubt, but what it was, she had no idea.  
  
Éowyn finally managed to wrench herself from Aragorn's grasp, and rushed to the aid of her uncle. As they watched, the age and wear seemed to melt from his features; the dust and pale skin of his long enchantment fell away like dirt washed away by the rain, and he gazed solemnly on Éowyn's tear- streaked but smiling face.  
  
"I know your face," he said softly. "Éowyn, Éowyn!" He looked around at the hall. Gandalf smiled kindly at him.  
  
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," said the old man. Hoshi could not believe that this was the same king standing before them. He looked alive again, no longer a mere husk but a living, breathing soul. His eyes gazed at each and every one of them, even the two displaced Starfleet officers; he did not know them and for a moment the confusion showed in his face, but he did not say anything.  
  
"Dark have been my dreams of late," said Théoden, gripping Éowyn's shoulder as he straightened up. "Your fingers would remember their old strength better.... if they grasped your sword," said Gandalf impishly. The sword of the king was brought forth, and Théoden gripped it with a grim smile. Then he turned to Gríma, who was mewling under the bootheels of the dwarf. Grasping the back of the former advisor's robe, he roared and dragged Wormtongue out onto the steps of the Hall and tossed him down the stairs.  
  
"I've only ever served you, my lord!" whimpered Gríma, clutching his fingers in desperation and writing on the ground.  
  
"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" cried the king, striding strong and tall over the pitiful wretch Wormtongue. The great sword rose in his hands, readying itself for a sweeping cut downwards, but Aragorn leapt forward and grabbed his arm before the blow could fall.  
  
"No, my lord! Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account," said the dark-haired warrior. Wormtongue spat at Aragorn's kindly hand and scrambled away from the steps of the Hall, quickly wresting a horse from one of the townspeople and galloping out through the gate on it.  
  
"Good riddance," muttered Malcolm and spat himself, off the side of the steps in the direction Wormtongue had taken.  
  
"Hail Théoden King!" cried Háma, and the crowd took up the call. But the king had no ears for it; he gazed around at the people in bafflement.  
  
"Where is my son?" he said plaintively. "Where is Théodred?"  
  
Éowyn came down then and drew him away; Hoshi closed her eyes and sighed. Such a terrible thing to wake up to, she thought. But of course, she and Malcolm had experienced much the same thing. If their crewmates were not dead, they were long gone and there was little hope of ever seeing them again. Malcolm, sensing her distress, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Hoshi opened her eyes and smiled weakly back at him. "I'm all right," she said. He nodded, not smiling back, and did not take his hand away. She looked across the steps to the crowd of visitors and guards and citizens milling about, their mixed grief and happiness creating a strange feel in mood.  
  
The eagle eyes of the old man, Gandalf, were fixed upon them with laser precision. As Hoshi returned his gaze he and the other man, Aragorn, came up to them.  
  
"And here we have something that does not belong," said Gandalf.  
  
"Your look is strange, fair maiden," said Aragorn, "and yours as well, stranger, yet not so strange as hers. Who are you?"  
  
"I am Hoshi Sato, and this is Malcolm Reed," said Hoshi quickly, extending her hand to shake. Aragorn gave her a strange look but took it gently and let her shake quickly. Malcolm did not move.  
  
"You are not where you should be," said Gandalf, his eyes brooding. He stared at them intently, as if he were trying to memorize every feature of their faces, and then reached out to Hoshi's forehead with one long arm. "You are not where you should be at all."  
  
Aragorn and Malcolm looked one another up and down, neither sure what to do. Hoshi stayed still as a stone, questions stirring through her mind with the intensity of a roaring fire. "Ah," said Gandalf finally, and took his hand away. "You have come a long way indeed."  
  
Hoshi and Malcolm stared at each other, completely aghast, and then at the old man, while Aragorn's brow wrinkled in confusion.  
  
"Tell me," said Gandalf solemnly, "how did you come here?"  
  
He spoke in English.  
  
********************* I'm trying my best to get stuff up quickly.... life, unfortunately, gets in the way at times. Keep looking for chapters, I'll keep working on them, and I'll try to actually finish Mind and Body too. 


	5. The March to Helm's Deep

Disclaimer: Enterprise and all related characters belong to Paramount; Lord of the Rings and all related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
***********************  
  
THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 5: The March to Helm's Deep  
  
Men of that land called it Helm's Deep, after a hero of old wars who had made his refuge there. Ever steeper and narrower it wound inward from the north under the shadow of the Thrihyrne, till the crowhaunted cliffs rose like mighty towers on either side, shutting out the light.  
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
***********************  
  
Aragorn still gazed at them with an utterly bemused face. A curious little surge of amusement went through Malcolm; the same expression had taken up near-permanent residence on his face since he had woken from his seven-day sleep these few weeks ago. Good to see that perhaps it had finally moved on.  
  
He was acutely conscious, standing in front of these two men, that he smelled of blacksmith's shed and sweat, and that they were both a good ten centimeters taller than him. The dark-haired warrior, Aragorn, had picked up his sword when Théoden had led them outside after Wormtongue, and Malcolm gazed longingly at the black scabbard hung almost nonchalantly at the man's side. His ribs twinged a bit, unexpectedly, and let him know in no uncertain terms just why that sword was beyond his abilities just now.  
  
Gandalf's eyes did not leave Hoshi's; Malcolm did not move, his hand still on her shoulder. "We don't know how we came here," said Hoshi in English, her voice strangely high, almost like a little girl's. "We saw a black ball, very smooth and shiny, and when we touched it we saw...."  
  
She gazed upwards at him, the words breaking off in mid-sentence.  
  
"We saw hands on fire," said Malcolm, cutting in quickly with a glance at Aragorn. He spoke in Common Speech, out of courtesy, wondering while he spoke what Hoshi was looking so very aghast about. "And stars, and fire, and clouds. A long road."  
  
"I saw you," said Hoshi, so softly that both Aragorn and Malcolm leaned closer to hear her. "You were looking at us, before the long road. You spoke but I did not understand."  
  
Gandalf looked very troubled. "That is a thing which drew heavily on my mind," he said. "I saw many strange things when I passed from one world to the other and back again. A great silver machine, floating in nothingness, yet inside there was life...."  
  
"That is Enterprise!" cried Malcolm. "Our ship!"  
  
The wizard shook his head. "I do not know its name. It is beyond my experience, ships that tread darkness instead of water. And many strange beings I saw, such that has never been seen in Middle Earth at all. But there is much I do not remember.... and the story itself, of how I came to see such things, is a very long one, and we have not the time to tell it now."  
  
Aragorn stared down at the ground. "It is no easy story to tell, either," he murmured, and gazed away to the east suddenly, where the sky seemed always fringed with heavy cloud, no matter what the day or the weather in Rohan. Then he came back to himself, shaking his head, and smiled at the two of them. "Come, fair maiden," he said to Hoshi, taking her hand. "You and your warrior here must find a place for the four of us, since I do believe the mistress of this hall has weightier matters on her mind at the moment."  
  
In any other man, Malcolm would have taken his words as a tease, or sarcasm, but in this one it was simply a statement of fact. The man carried himself like the proudest Royal Navy officer, bringing wisdom and knowledge of long tradition with him, but at the same time he was not haughty and overbearing. He simply was, and that was all.  
  
The elf and the dwarf stood atop the steps of Meduseld, waiting patiently for their friends to catch up. They spoke in low voices of one called Saruman and of the death of Théodred, and of Éomer's banishment.  
  
"Éomer?" said Malcolm, butting right into their conversation. "You have seen Éomer?"  
  
The elf, cool and complacent, looked him up and down in such a calculating manner that Malcolm could have sworn he was looking at a Vulcan. A Vulcan with long blonde hair and a quiver of arrows, to be sure, but a Vulcan nonetheless. It was not the elf, though, who responded. "Aye, lad, that we have," said the stout dwarf, clapping Malcolm on the arm. "Not two days ago, riding north."  
  
"Wormtongue banished him," said Malcolm. "He is needed here." His tongue tripped over the words, trying to find the right ones. "Threats.... orcs.... the Rohirrim must fight. There are few left."  
  
"There are very few left indeed," said Aragorn ominously, eyes dark with worry. "Théoden's bewitchment may prove to be a grave blow to Rohan."  
  
"Right now is not the time to speak of this," said Gandalf. "The king's son lies unburied in his deathbed. Today will be a time of mourning. Come. There will be time for talk of war later. Indeed, you shall be quite tired of war talk ere it finishes." He put his arm about Hoshi and the others followed in their wake, joining the crowd of mourners in the Golden Hall.  
  
*******************  
  
"Do you think that Enterprise has had funerals for us yet?" said Malcolm the next day, as they climbed the hill back to the city. The mounds of the tombs of the kings of Rohan lay behind them, white speckled and oddly beautiful in a morbid way.  
  
Hoshi looked over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the two old men who stood silently before the newly-dug grave of Théodred. Gandalf's white hair blew in the wind. Théoden shook his head slowly, staring in disbelief at the mound before him. As she watched he bent to pick one of the white flowers--- simbelmynë, was it?---and twisted it around in his fingers.  
  
Malcolm watched Hoshi and saw what she saw; when they were out of sight of the grave mounds she gave him a scornful glare. "I don't want to think about it," she said flatly. "I am alive here. That is what matters."  
  
"We've been gone a month, almost," said Malcolm, clenching his hands into fists in an almost unconscious gesture. "They've given us up for lost. How could they not?"  
  
The look Hoshi gave him would have made a Vulcan flinch. "I don't want to talk about it," she told him, each word cold and biting. Then she turned and strode up to join Éowyn, leaving a very bemused armory officer in her wake. He swore, with all the force of his sailing ancestry behind it, and stumbled back down the hill. Not to the graves---he did not want to think about it, either, really---but around the walls to the front gate. There he flopped into the grass and lay on his back, looking at the clouds scud across the sky. Somewhere out there (or maybe somewhen, he amended himself, for he had a growing suspicion that they were not in their proper time at all) was Enterprise, flying away among the stars without them. Facing the Xindi, perhaps, or the Suliban, or any other of the myriad of enemies. No orcs in space, no Saruman and possession, no Wormtongue, just faceless aliens concealed in their hostile ships....  
  
He knew only an inkling of the passing events, but he knew enough to gather that what was happening here was earth shaking. The dark threat to the east that the warriors spoke of, the evil place where the sun never shone, what was its name? He could not remember, and it irked him, because that name was important.  
  
And here he was going all out trying to figure things out! As if he were a part of this world at all. It was not his responsibility to save these people, not in the slightest. He had no part in their war, no matter how grandiose.  
  
"If he touches my sister, kill him," said Éomer's voice in his mind, the image of the proud warrior flashing before his eyes. Like or not, he said to himself, you do have a responsibility. Éomer is not here; it falls to you to protect Éowyn. And Hoshi, of course. If either of them would even accept his protection....  
  
"Malcolm!" snapped a voice across the waving grasses. Malcolm bolted upright, gazing around until his eyes fell on Gandalf and Théoden, striding quickly towards him.  
  
"Who are they?" he asked as the two men came up to him. Gandalf, holding a wide-eyed young girl in his arms as well as the reins of a horse in one hand, raised an eyebrow at him. The girl gazed from the boy in Théoden's arms to the horse and Gandalf. "Where is Mama?" she cried plaintively, clutching at the wizard's white robes.  
  
"Hush, child," he said softly, handing the reins to Malcolm. The boy stirred in the king's arms and opened his eyes. For a moment the boy gazed around blankly and then started upwards so quickly that Théoden nearly dropped him.  
  
"Garold! Freda! Where are you?" he cried, struggling out of the king's grip and onto the ground. He swayed and gasped as his knees gave out beneath him.  
  
"I'm here!" cried Freda, reaching out to her brother. "Éothain, here I am!" He looked over and grasped her hand weakly, smiling.  
  
"Your horse is too large for you, boy," said Théoden, keeping the boy on his feet with one strong arm. "A lad your size should ride a mare or a pony, not a great stallion like Garold here."  
  
"I tried," said the boy. "I rode all night.... to raise the alarm...." He slumped forward into Théoden's arms, the king willingly taking up the boy's weight.  
  
"Raise the alarm?" said Gandalf to the little girl, resuming their trek up the hill. "What does he mean, raise the alarm?"  
  
"They burned our village," said Freda, a tear slipping down her dirt- smudged cheek. "Big ugly men with torches came and set fire to the roofs. Mama told us to go to Edoras and tell the king. But I don't know who the king is."  
  
Théoden did not say anything as the little girl sobbed into Gandalf's beard. The wizard stroked her hair until she quieted, and they climbed up the hill in silence. Malcolm looked from one child to the other, wondering what it cost Théoden to hold someone else's son in his arms when his own lay dead under a white-flowered hill, and said nothing at all. He parted from Gandalf and Théoden at the steps of Meduseld and delivered the horse into the skilled hands of the stablemasters.  
  
Aragorn, Éowyn, and Hoshi were holding a whispered conference over the head of the dazed boy and the little girl; Malcolm detected matters of healing in the air and steered far clear of the subject, having had far too much experience of Éowyn's medicinal talents for a lifetime. He saw Legolas and Gimli, with whom he had shared a dormitory the prior night, and sat down with them.  
  
"Have some beer, laddie," said the jovial dwarf, pushing a tankard towards him. "You're looking a bit peaky there. You need beer and red meat, that's the ticket." Malcolm took it but did not drink. Whatever the brewers of Rohan put in their beer, it did not suit his tastes at all. He took a hunk of bread and chewed on it absently, wondering if red meat would really help any with his recuperation. Aragorn and Hoshi left their conference with Éowyn and came and sat next to Malcolm, taking food and drink for themselves.  
  
Legolas nodded to them, but kept his eyes on the little boy and girl now eagerly eating bowls of soup. Éowyn draped a blanket around the girl's shoulders and looked up at the king, sitting stiffly on his throne with Gandalf next to him. "They had no warning," she said. "They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go, rick, cot, and tree."  
  
"Where is Mama?" said Freda again; Éowyn hushed her, but the pain showed clear in both their eyes as each gazed at the king. Gandalf's wise old eyes gazed at them both, and then lit on Hoshi and Malcolm.  
  
"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash on you, all the more potent for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children," Gandalf said urgently. "You must fight. You have left it almost too late, Théoden king."  
  
"Indeed my eyes were almost blind," said Théoden. He looked around the room, eyes settling on the two displaced Starfleet officers. Malcolm stared back, unafraid, and took a bite of bread. The king had favored both him and Hoshi with many a curious glance since his awakening the day before, but still he had not asked who they were or what they were doing in his hall.  
  
"How far back his treachery goes, who can guess?" said Gandalf, following the king's gaze. "He was not always evil. Once I do not doubt that he was the friend of Rohan; and even when his heart grew colder, he found you useful still. But for long now he has plotted your ruin, wearing the mask of friendship, until he was ready. In those years Wormtongue's task was easy, and all that you did was swiftly known in Isengard; for your land was open and strangers came and went. And ever Wormtongue's whispering was in your ears, poisoning your thought, chilling your heart, weakening your limbs, while others watched and could do nothing, for your will was in his keeping."  
  
Théoden's eyes flashed dangerously at the wizard. "And I wonder what spells he may still leave in place," he said, standing up and coming forward to the table where Hoshi and Aragorn sat, quietly eating. Hoshi caught on to his meaning at once and drew herself up.  
  
"My lord, I am no spy from Saruman," she said, words biting and harsh. "Nor is my friend. We came here through some magic, and all we want is to return. And believe me, if we could find a way to do it, we would!"  
  
"You sit in my hall, eating my food, and dare to speak to me thus?" said Théoden, eyes wide. "In the past you would be slain for such talk!"  
  
"You'll have to come through me to slay anyone!" cried Malcolm, leaping up from the table and upsetting the tankard of beer. No one said a word as king and lieutenant faced each other down, eyes blazing. Hoshi's jaw tightened and she placed a hand on both of their chests and pushed hard, breaking the power struggle apart. Malcolm fell back onto the bench, hand to his chest, trying to draw in breath as splinters of pain shot through his still-sore ribs.  
  
"Idiot," Hoshi said to him in English. "Next time you protect me, wait until you're in shape to do it."  
  
Malcolm, still wheezing, glared at the wizard as the old man snorted loudly. "What did she say?" demanded Gimli, banging his tankard on the table. The wizard only smiled and shook his head.  
  
"We are drawn apart by Isengard at one end and Barad-dur at the other," he said, ignoring Gimli. "Isengard will not leave you alone. We cannot afford to provoke division within our own cause. You have not enough fighters that you can afford to lose this one here."  
  
Théoden glared at everyone, obviously not liking Gandalf's words, but stepped away from Hoshi and Malcolm. "Isengard will overcome us," he said heavily. "No matter how many fighters we have."  
  
"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," said Aragorn.  
  
"Éomer is loyal to you," added Malcolm, finally getting his breath under control.  
  
Aragorn nodded. "His men will return and fight for their King."  
  
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," Théoden spat. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is you want of me. But I will not bring further hurt to my people. I will not risk open war."  
  
Aragorn's lips thinned. "Open war is upon you," he said fiercely. "Whether you would risk it or not."  
  
"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan," said Théoden, hand straying to his sword. Malcolm sighed; the man was simply too confrontational. He almost liked him better as a shaggy lump on a dusty throne. Gimli burped loudly.  
  
Gandalf looked from one to the other. "Then what is the king's decision?" he asked, a hint of ice in his voice. Théoden looked at him, flinty-eyed, and then at the banner of Eorlingas hanging from the wall. "We shall go to Helm's Deep. There we may withstand a thousand sieges. The enemy will come and fall trying to break the walls, and we shall outlast them."  
  
From the looks that passed between Gandalf and Aragorn, Malcolm gathered that they liked this decision not one bit, but it was as Théoden had said: he was king of Rohan, and they were merely strangers with no real power here.  
  
Malcolm, looking at them, was oddly pleased that at last someone was in the same boat as him.  
  
*********************  
  
They left early the next morning, a train of people stretching out over the plains. The women and children wept; the men looked over their shoulder at their home, and all were dejected and pale-faced. Malcolm strode with Éowyn and Hoshi, a pack of foodstuff and medicines on his back. Apparently the seeming incompetence the women had diagnosed him with as a result of his injuries did not extend to carrying their things.  
  
Gimli rode next to them on Arod, a flighty white gelding that he had acquired from Éomer as the Rohirrim rode north. For a time Éowyn pressed him for news of her brother, but the dwarf could tell her little, and the talk turned to dwarves themselves.  
  
"It's true, you don't see many dwarf women!" said Gimli gaily, rocking back and forth as the flighty Arod weaved beneath him. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men."  
  
"It's the beards," said Aragorn softly from behind them, showing rather a lot of teeth in his wide grin. Éowyn laughed, a high, girlish giggle that made both Malcolm and Hoshi glance at the younger woman with surprise. Their eyes met and they both nodded. Malcolm grinned too. Éowyn had it bad for the ragged man from the north.  
  
"And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women!" Gimli said. "And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground! Which is of course ridiculous....whoa!!" Arod skittered forward and stopped short, throwing Gimli to the ground, and whickered gaily. Éowyn rushed forward and brushed the dwarf off as he protested, "It's all right, it's all right! That was deliberate, it was deliberate." Hoshi laughed and went forward to help, leaving Aragorn and Malcolm walking side by side.  
  
"Deliberate, of course," said Malcolm, chuckling.  
  
Aragorn laughed, still looking at Éowyn. Her golden hair blazed in the sunlight and her fair features lit up with an inner light. Personally, Malcolm felt Hoshi far outshone the pale Éowyn, even if he barely admitted it to himself, but he was not one to mock other men's taste in women. But when he looked at Aragorn again, he discarded his earlier observation as he saw the sadness in the other man's eyes. Almost unconsciously Aragorn's hand crept to the shining silver pendant around his neck, and Malcolm knew that somewhere he had left another woman behind, one whom Éowyn, no matter how she might try, could never replace.  
  
"You came from another time?" asked Aragorn suddenly, breaking from his reverie.  
  
"I think so," said Malcolm. "Gandalf agrees, but he does not know how it happened."  
  
"Things do not happen for no reason," said Aragorn. "You are strange, but you are here for some purpose."  
  
Malcolm looked out over the mountains to the south, their dusty peaks hazy in the morning light, before he answered. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "I can't think what that reason could be, though."  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know either. But you are a man of war, I see this clearly. Perhaps you will turn our fortunes in the coming battles."  
  
"I'm not much for hand-to-hand combat," said Malcolm apologetically. "We do not use swords where I come from."  
  
"Your ship, which flies among the stars? What do you use then?" Aragorn asked, a curious note in his voice.  
  
How to explain phase pistols or torpedoes or phase cannons? Plasma rifles? "We can....we can focus light so it kills," said Malcolm helplessly, not knowing the word for gun or cannon (if these people even had such things, which he doubted). "And we can make explosions. Very big explosions."  
  
Aragorn's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you then a wizard? To control light in a such a way?"  
  
"No....It's not magic, it's physics," said Malcolm, using the English word. He knew Aragorn would not understand, and he sighed. "We could defeat Saruman easily with such things, but there are none here. I am in charge of the weapons of my ship, and I could build one if I had the right materials, but you don't have any of the right things here."  
  
"Perhaps Gandalf could help you," said Aragorn. "He will return in four more days. He left yesterday morning."  
  
"I think I'd have to change your entire industrial basis to do that," said Malcolm, grinning. "And I don't think you have one in the first place, since I have to say 'industrial' in English."  
  
Aragorn gave him a bemused expression, not understanding. "Well, you will be helpful at Helm's Deep, I think," he said, and clapped Malcolm gently on the shoulder. "We will weather this storm, every man together, no matter how strange their way of coming here."  
  
They went on in silence. Malcolm smiled slightly as he walked, watching Hoshi and Éowyn, and thinking that perhaps it was not such a terrible thing to be here after all.  
  
********************  
  
This is going to be a very long story. I don't know what I'm getting myself into! But it's fun to write.... I don't think I've ever had so much fun writing fan fiction before! 


	6. An Unexpected Attack

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Extremely, extremely sorry for the delay between posts. School decided to get very busy. It actually is still busy but I've had enough of it so I'm ignoring it, yay go me.  
  
And Lord of the Rings won Best Picture, Best Director, everything... SO awesome!  
  
*********************  
  
THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Six: An Unexpected Attack  
  
"Hail, Lord of the Mark!" said Éomer. "The dark night has passed, and day has come again. But the day has brought strange tidings." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
*********************  
  
"Wargs! We are under attack!"  
  
There were no clouds overhead yet, but a heaviness was in the air; it was hot for the season of the year. The sun was hazy, and behind it, following it slowly up the sky, there was a growing darkness, as of a great storm moving out of the East. And away in the North-west there seemed to be another darkness brooding about the feet of the Misty Mountains, a shadow that crept down slowly from the Wizard's Vale.  
  
The long, ragtag line of refugees cast their eyes to the shadow and shivered despite the warm wind, the darkness doing nothing to improve their despairing spirits. They had walked for two days now and Helm's Deep drew near. So close it was, and yet so far away.  
  
Hoshi tramped along beside Éowyn, eyes seeing none of the beauty of the world around her, when the call echoed along the line of men, women, and horses. "Wargs?" she said, mystified. Éowyn's eyes flashed.  
  
The men sprang into action at once, reaching for sword and shield, and hastily tightening the saddle-girths around the proud warhorses. "Riders to the head of the column!" bellowed Théoden, his voice thundering above the pounding hooves of the riders' horses.  
  
With one swift, fluid movement, Éowyn made for her sword, half-hidden beneath her mare's saddle blanket. She threw a defiant glance at Hoshi, eyes blazing with battle fury as she drew the sword from the scabbard. "Éowyn, no," said Hoshi softly.  
  
"She is right," said Théoden, riding past. "You must lead the people to Helm's Deep, and make haste!" He reined in his stallion and glared down at his niece.  
  
"I can fight!" cried Éowyn, her voice choked with desperation.  
  
"No," said Théoden. "You must do this." For a moment blue met blue, the one clear and young, the other pale and wise, and Hoshi feared that Éowyn would not yield to her uncle and king.  
  
But she reluctantly sighed and turned away from her uncle. "Make for the lower ground! Stay together!" she cried and strode off to lead the long line away from danger.  
  
Théoden nodded once to Hoshi, face set in grim lines, and shouted to the warriors, "Follow me!" Away the riders pounded and the women and child cried out for their husbands and fathers, fearful that they should never see them again.  
  
Hoshi's eyes fixed on one dark head, hair shorter than all the rest, clutching Aragorn around the waist as they rode away over the grassy hills. So he was going. She had hoped he would have more sense than that.  
  
A tear, unbidden, welled in the corner of Hoshi's eye, but she wiped it away and went along the line, comforting the people and herding them along the beaten path that led to the safety of Helm's Deep. "Come along now," she murmured to the elderly women, and to the children, "Let's go! Who can reach the gates first?" Her false cheer brought weak smiles to their faces and sped their steps.  
  
Within her own chest, however, Hoshi's heart beat wildly. Ridden away with the rest of the men, Malcolm had, and left her alone here. Without a second thought he had gone! What if he were to be hurt again?  
  
What if he were killed?  
  
A choked sigh escaped from her lips, but the long line of people were too loud, chattering in worried tones, for anyone to hear her. She was alone already, she thought, for Malcolm could selflessly help to protect a people who were not his own, and all she could do was worry that she would never get back to her own.  
  
The tears stayed unshed; the thoughts retreated to the darkest corner of her mind; and Hoshi, firm in her purpose to forget entirely her former life, went to find Éowyn at the head of the column.  
  
*****************  
  
They reached Helm's Deep only a little while later, as the sun drew to its zenith. A cry of relief went up from the refugees as they milled through the gates.  
  
Inside the halls were already crowded with people, squatters lined up against the old, weathered stones. Hoshi gazed up at the walls of the fortress, not knowing at all what to make of it. In her time, in her world, people had no longer any need for great strongholds such as this; she marveled at it, and wondered how anything could dare threaten these solid stone walls. She stood on the wall above the gates and looked out over the fortress and the valley. The front wall was twenty feet high, and so thick that four men could walk abreast along the top, sheltered by a parapet over which only a tall man could look. The great stones of the Deeping Wall were set with such skill that no foothold could be found at their joints, and at the top they hung over like a sea-delved calf.  
  
"It is a mighty fortress, is it not?" said Éowyn, startling Hoshi from her reverie. "It is called after Helm, a hero of old wars who made his refuge here. The tall spire is the Hornburg. In the far-off days of the glory of Gondor the sea-kings built here this fastness with the hands of giants."  
  
"It is very impressive," said Hoshi. "I have never seen such a thing before." She said no more and stared out over the ramparts, her face impassive, until Éowyn, with a sympathetic glance, left her alone.  
  
She knew herself to be in a black mood, brought on presently by Malcolm's riding away with the warriors, probably to his death, but really it had taken over long before that. With a sigh she looked at the sky and wondered where Enterprise was now.  
  
:I can help you,: said a tiny voice in the back of her mind, so faint that she thought it to be her own mind until it spoke again. :Hoshi Sato. I can help you.:  
  
She started and cried out, catching the attention of the people below for a moment, but quickly she recovered herself and gazed out at the valley again. "Who are you?" she whispered, remembering Tarquin and his telepathic visitations. Perhaps it was someone who could contact Enterprise for her!  
  
:I am a friend, dear Hoshi. You come from somewhere far from here, do you not?:  
  
"Yes, very far from here," whispered Hoshi. "Earth. A starship brought me here."  
  
:A starship? Like a great boat that flies through the stars rather than the water?:  
  
"Exactly. You can help us return to it? Are you one of Tarquin's people?"  
  
:I do not know of this Tarquin.:  
  
"Some of them are telepaths with very long lives and long range. They can speak to people's minds over huge distances using an amplifier."  
  
:Ah. Yes, you could call me such a one.:  
  
Hoshi's arms trembled; she wanted to smile but did not because she was in full view of the people below. "Can you find Enterprise and contact them for me?"  
  
:I will do as you ask, my dear. Will you allow me into your thoughts, so that I may know better what I am looking for?:  
  
"Will it hurt?"  
  
:You will feel sleepy, dear Hoshi, nothing more, and you will simply drowse for a little while. Sit down and sleep, child.:  
  
A yawn escaped from her lips as she slumped down against the ramparts. The stones were warm against her back, and with a contented sigh she lay down, out of sight of anyone below her. :Simply relax, my dear,: said the voice, deep and powerful and comforting. :I will find your ship for you.: She saw a brief flash behind her eyelids of white light streaked through with grey, and without any further thought drifted off into dreams of Enterprise and home.  
  
Over Helm's Deep the clouds flew by, riding the brisk wind high above the brown valley and the sharp cliffs. The people of Edoras shifted through the halls of the great fortress, quibbling over whose spot was whose. Their voices rose to join the soft cheeping of birds and the rustle of the grasses in the wind, and mixed with the trickling stream through the culvert at the base of the wall.  
  
To the northwest the darkness crept down from Isengard, the Wizard's Vale. The shadow reached far across the Gap of Rohan, casting twilight on all it touched and stifling the rays of the brilliant sun above.  
  
And in Helm's Deep, Hoshi slept on, dreaming in shadow.  
  
******************  
  
They thundered over the hills and rocks, horse and rider equally grim in purpose. Legolas stood at the crest of a hill, sending arrow after arrow into the ranks of the leaping Warg-riders. One, then another, twisted under the shrill whine of his arrow and fell to the ground as their riders screamed their hate out in sharp Orkish curses.  
  
Malcolm's blood pounded in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his arms and legs. He gripped the battered sword loaned from Théoden's armory, and wished desperately that he had a phase pistol. A good wide-range shot could take care of these monsters so much more quickly than all this ridiculous swordplay. Théoden sounded the charge and down they went, and the battle was joined, Warg and man and horse and orc all in the desperate, hopeless chaos of battle.  
  
Yet he was not afraid with naught but steel to defend himself. Aragorn, sword in one hand, plucked a spear from the ground and hurled it at a Warg that was advancing on a trapped Gimli. With a grunt the beast fell, landing right on top of the Warg that already pinned down the Dwarf.  
  
Being careful not to slice Aragorn, Malcolm waved out wildly with his sword, holding on to Hasufel with his knees. But his horseman's seat was better when he could use his hands as well, and so he slipped off the side of the horse when Hasufel reared slightly. Rolling out of the way of Hasufel's hooves, Malcolm struck upwards and right through the skull of the Warg, more out of dumb luck than any skill. The Orc rider growled in fury and scrambled away from the dead beast, drawing a wickedly curved sword from his belt.  
  
The Orc was too slow, though, because by the time he had drawn his sword, Malcolm had already lunged forward and stabbed him through the chest. With an almost comical look the Orc glared down at the sword and then dropped to the ground, dead eyes wide in surprise.  
  
Malcolm slid the sword out and whirled around, looking for any enemies to face. His ears roared and the blood fury poured in a torrent through his mind.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aragorn take a flying leap onto the back of a Warg. Hasufel ran towards Malcolm, riderless and wild. Charging forward, Malcolm grabbed the horse's reins and clambered clumsily into the saddle, glancing back and forth as Aragorn struggled with the Orc as the Warg streaked away beneath them.  
  
This time, human speed was not enough. He spurred Hasufel into a gallop and charged after Aragorn, clinging to the reins so hard his knuckles turned white, but all he saw was the flap of a gray-green cloak and a flash of panic on the man's face as he tumbled over the cliff.  
  
"Aragorn!" shouted Malcolm helplessly as Hasufel skidded to a halt at the side of the cliff. He slipped off the horse and gazed down over the cliff, shuddering to see the white rapids below and no sign of either Warg or man.  
  
"Aragorn!" Legolas' voice echoed behind him. Malcolm, suddenly extremely weary, pushed himself up from the ground. He took Hasufel's reins and patted the horse's neck, unable to call out to the searching Elf.  
  
"Aragorn?" said Gimli, running up to Legolas. A choked laughter gurgled from the ground near their feet, and both companions turned to look. Malcolm sighed and began to walk toward them; the Orc burbled with a final laugh.  
  
"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing," growled the Dwarf, hefting his axe.  
  
"He's...dead!" it chortled wetly, a macabre grin stained with blood crossing its features. "Took a little tumble off the cliff!"  
  
"You lie!" hissed Legolas. Malcolm met his eyes and shook his head. The Elf's mouth opened soundlessly, and he gazed down at the Orc at his feet.  
  
"He did," said Malcolm quietly. "I saw him go over. I couldn't get there fast enough."  
  
Legolas' brows knitted together, and Malcolm realized in his distress he had spoken in English. He repeated it in the Common Speech as the Orc took its last breath. Neither Gimli nor Legolas responded. The Elf bent down and pulled a shining object from the Orc's grimy hand: Aragorn's Elvish pendant, stained with dark Orc blood.  
  
They looked over the side, Malcolm hoping desperately for something, anything, to surface, to give them some hint of Aragorn... alive or dead.  
  
He thought that Enterprise must have looked for them as they looked now for Aragorn—gazing into the water, and finding nothing but swirling ripples.  
  
Théoden padded up to join them, gazing down into the water for a long moment. Malcolm met his eyes and pleaded silently with him; the king's face hardened and he turned away. "Get the wounded on horses," he shouted. With a last stern look at Legolas, Malcolm, and Gimli, he added, "Leave the dead."  
  
Legolas gave him a look of perplexed surprise; the king laid his hand on the Elf's shoulder and said merely, "Come." Then he trudged off down the slope to help his men.  
  
"Théoden treats his dead ill," said Legolas softly once the king was out of hearing range. "It is not proper."  
  
"I think he just wants to get to Helm's Deep quickly," said Malcolm, sighing again. Hasufel whickered and glanced over the edge of the cliff again; idly Malcolm patted the horse's neck.  
  
"Come on, lads," Gimli said, giving them both a light thump on the arm. "Let's go. The dead would not want any more of us to join them. We should not linger. It is past noon already!"  
  
Casting one last look at the raging river below, the three strode away from the cliff and forward to the safety of Helm's Deep, leaving a silent graveyard behind them. The short afternoon shadows loomed over the bodies of the dead as the wind hummed a funeral dirge above; the departing warriors said a quiet word to the souls of their friends and rode on without looking back.  
  
Battle lay ahead, and death lay behind, and still the shadow from the north- west crept onward.  
  
*******************  
  
Again, I am terribly sorry for the long delay between updates, but hopefully it is worth the wait. Suggestions...comments...let me know. 


	7. The Companions Mourn

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Aren't you all the lucky readers! Two chapters in one week!  
  
**********************  
  
THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Seven: The Companions Mourn  
  
Many Elves and many mighty Men, and many of their friends, had perished in the war. Anárion was slain, and Isildur was slain; and Gil-galad and Elendil were no more. Never again shall there be any such league of Elves and Men; for Men multiply and the Firstborn decrease, and the two kindreds are estranged. And ever since that day the race of Númenor has decayed, and the span of their years has lessened. ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
**********************  
  
The warriors rode into Helm's Deep just after mid-afternoon, only a little behind the women and children. Éowyn met them at the front gates, breathless and anxious in her haste. She fluttered around the riders like a white moth, wringing her hands in dismay.  
  
"So few! So few of you have returned!" she cried, gazing at them, eyes wide like a startled deer.  
  
Théoden gazed back at her, his eyes cold as frozen steel. "Our people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives," he said and pushed past the young woman. Éowyn met Malcolm's eyes. Sadly he turned away, not wishing to tell her of Aragorn's fate.  
  
But she was far too perceptive for that, and looked from one to the next, pleading for someone to tell her what had befallen. "My lady...," said Gimli, choking as he spoke the words.  
  
"Lord Aragorn...where is he?" she asked.  
  
"He fell," said Gimli, and could speak no more. Éowyn looked up at her uncle, who bowed his head and strode away. Malcolm slipped down from Hasufel's back and took her hand in his.  
  
"He fought well," he said. "He died a warrior's death. He will be remembered."  
  
"He should be remembered as a king," spat Legolas and stalked away.  
  
"What?" Malcolm said in amazement. "A king?"  
  
"Did you not know, lad?" said Gimli. "Aragorn is heir to the throne of Gondor."  
  
Malcolm searched through his mind, trying to remember just which of the many countries Gondor was. "To the south," said Éowyn. "On the other side of the White Mountains. Minas Tirith, the White City, is the capital."  
  
"Oh, yes. The one with a Steward?" The words left his mouth and Malcolm realized the mistake. "Steward...of course. I apologize. All these names are rather difficult to keep track of. Aragorn was supposed to be king of that country?"  
  
"He is Isildur's heir," said Gimli. "The blood of the Numénoreans runs...ran...in his veins. There is none higher among men."  
  
"Who will be king if he is not?" asked Malcolm.  
  
Éowyn sighed. "Most likely the stewards will claim for themselves the throne of Gondor."  
  
"There were some who did not believe he was the true heir," said Gimli. "Boromir did not for a time."  
  
"Boromir was your other companion?" asked Éowyn, looking rather awed. "The son of the Steward of Gondor? I did not know he traveled with you. An auspicious company you kept, master Gimli."  
  
"Boromir was a good man. He fell as well," said the Dwarf sadly. "Slain by Orcs. Three arrows it took to bring him down! And he slew a great many himself."  
  
Éowyn's face paled, ghost-white in the shadow of the walls. "And your fellowship was broken," she whispered.  
  
"Aye, lass, that it was," said Gimli. "But both of our fallen members cost the enemy dearly. Boromir and Aragorn were the finest of men, and that is not a compliment a Dwarf pays out lightly."  
  
Éowyn's lips thinned; from long experience with Madeleine, Malcolm could tell that she was fighting back tears. The young woman was very strong but Aragorn's death did not hit her lightly. On impulse he drew his arms around her and she collapsed against his chest, drawing long, shuddering breaths. He stroked her hair gently, as he would have done for his sister, and remembered Éomer's command to him. Wormtongue was no longer around, but he must still protect Éowyn; it was his duty and he would continue to do it until---if---Éomer returned.  
  
He held her until she stopped shuddering; finally, she drew away from him, surprisingly dry-eyed but still very pale. "It'll be all right, lass," said Gimli, patting her back. She gave him a weak smile and looked up at the ramparts above them.  
  
"Hoshi was most upset at your leaving," she said to Malcolm. "She slipped my mind for the moment. But perhaps we should go and find her. She stood atop the gate, gazing out to the plains, and I have not glimpsed her since."  
  
"I'll go look for her," said Malcolm, stepping away from Éowyn. "I should probably apologize. I didn't think of her...she was probably not too happy at me for running off without a word to her." He nodded to Gimli and wandered away from them, heading for a nearby stair.  
  
The steps meandered and twisted around in strange patterns; for a few minutes Malcolm was disoriented and found his way to the top of the gate by pure accident.  
  
Hoshi lay curled up against the stones, breathing deeply, eyes closed tight. "Hoshi?" whispered Malcolm, carefully lowering himself down next to her. "Hoshi, are you sleeping?" He ran one hand along the side of her cheek, marveling how soft her skin felt against his rough fingers. She stirred and moved away from his touch, eyelids fluttering. Black eyes gazed out from under thick lashes, but she merely stared at him and did not speak.  
  
"Hoshi, I'm sorry for running off like that," Malcolm said, slipping into English. "Éowyn said you were worried. I should have stayed with you and the women and children. I know I'm still not quite up to speed." This was true. His muscles were already sore from the earlier battle. He thought longingly of the hot showers on Enterprise---something completely unheard of here---and sighed. "Come on, Hoshi, you shouldn't sleep on the hard stone. Come down and I'll find you a blanket."  
  
She sat up and gazed at him without saying a word. Malcolm frowned. "I don't know what else to say, Hoshi. What do you want me to say?" As soon as the words left his mouth he bit his tongue. Good one, Reed, you idiot, he thought. That phrase never brought anything but trouble.  
  
Hoshi's eyes swept up and down his face, her expression one of bemusement, almost as if she did not even recognize him. "I should go help Éowyn," she said at last, and stood up quickly, walking as if in a daze. Malcolm, quite flabbergasted, sat on the stones, with not a clue what to do.  
  
How strange everything was here, he thought, not for the first time, and heaved himself up from the stones. She was obviously angry at him, so angry that she wouldn't even speak to him! But what had he done? Women! He'd never understand them. She should be relieved that he was here and all in one piece... He sighed and started down the stairs, wincing slightly as his ribs protested the move. His tumble from Hasufel's back had not helped them any. Better not tell Hoshi that, he thought. It would just add to the problem.  
  
He looked out along the long wall stretching away from the keep and saw Gimli and Legolas striding along the walkway at the top. With faint surprise he realized that he recognized the place: he and Hoshi had planned to come here on that ill-fated shore leave. How ironic that they should be here now after all. How far in the future was their time, he wondered, since the aerial photographs he remembered were of a much more derelict fortress.  
  
As he walked down to join the Elf and the Dwarf, Malcolm's military mind noted strengths and weaknesses of this fortress. He'd read military strategy in his days at school, and since, but very little dealing with castles, and very little of it even land strategy, since his father had encouraged him to read mostly naval works.  
  
But he knew enough to realize that preparations would have to made if they were to withstand a siege from an invading force. Wargs would not be able to get into the fortress, but he doubted an enemy---especially one so devious as this Saruman character---would be so stupid as to send big dogs, no matter how ferocious, against a stone fortress. Food should be gathered, and shelter found for all the people camped in the halls and open areas behind the long wall.  
  
Tunnels, Malcolm thought. It would be rather simple to dig under that long wall, especially at one of the far ends where the rock cliff jutted out and obstructed the view from the keep. What had they done in the middle ages to detect that? Bowls of water, wasn't it? So that the vibrations from the tunneling could be seen in the water, that was it.  
  
"There are not enough men to defend this keep," said Legolas as Malcolm approached. "When the enemy comes they will not meet heavy resistance."  
  
"I think you underestimate them," said Malcolm. The Elf merely raised an eyebrow. "They are all very strong-willed. They will not give up easily."  
  
"Courage will be no match for what Saruman sends against them," said Legolas, clenching a fist. "I know not what it will be, but the White Wizard is far too devious to be easily stopped."  
  
"I can already see some things we need to improve," replied Malcolm. "For one, the gate is too thin. If they try to...um...knock it down...with a...big log...?"  
  
"Battering ram," supplied Gimli.  
  
"Yes. If they try to knock it down with a battering ram, it will punch right through that thin wood. We need to shore it up, with metal if possible."  
  
"It will be Théoden's decision, not ours," said Legolas grimly. "And I have noticed he does not take kindly to helpful suggestions."  
  
Malcolm stared out over the gray-green valley in front of them, taking in the high stone cliffs and craggy boulders that punctuated the landscape. "He does what he feels is right. But he has much to think about. We should make preparations anyway, without his knowledge." This would be easier with Aragorn here, he thought silently, and from the looks on the others' faces they were thinking the same thing.  
  
"That we should, lad," said Gimli. He clapped Legolas and Malcolm on the shoulders (comically reaching up over his head) and pulled them towards the keep.  
  
Malcolm put Aragorn out of his mind. When the attack did come, tomorrow or the next day or the day after that, they must be ready. More would fall. There was no time to mourn those who already had.  
  
He looked up at the sky, the shadows deepening in the afternoon sun, and did not see the rider galloping down the valley towards the gate of Helm's Deep.  
  
**********************  
  
Archer, Trip, and several of Reed's security personnel clambered up over the rocks outside one of the many ruins all over the planet, frantically trying to get out of the storm. The wind howled in their ears and nipped at their exposed cheeks, and rain sluiced down in icy sheets. A long wall, half-fallen, barred them from reaching what looked like a sort of small castle. In the middle of the wall a great hole gaped wide, partially stopped up with boulders, and they splashed through ankle-deep water to get inside.  
  
Trip slipped and tumbled into the stream, and cursed loudly as he heaved himself out of the water. Even so, Archer barely heard him over the roar of the wind. He looked up to the sky, wincing as the cold raindrops hit his eyes, and swore himself. The shuttle would never be able to get through that maelstrom.  
  
Grabbing one of the security officers as she slipped and narrowly missed a sharp boulder, Archer pointed to the tower and surged out of the water. The others followed him as he broke into a dead run towards the welcome shelter. Up the steps he went, winding around the side of the building, and at the top he found a rotted wooden door, so ancient that it sagged off of its hinges. He kicked it in without thinking twice, and for a moment they all simply stood in the dry room, lit only by the dim light from outside, breathing heavily as the rain dripped from their clothes.  
  
"This is where they were going?" asked Archer.  
  
"Yeah. I was supposed to meet them here," Trip said, shaking the rain out of his jacket. "Two hours from now, as a matter of fact."  
  
"You wouldn't believe to look at it, that it's just late afternoon out there," said Crewman Johnson, slicking his wet hair back from his face and checking the phase pistol at his hip. "Disgusting! I remember why I went out for Starfleet in the first place."  
  
Archer grinned at him and clicked on his flashlight. "Not a fan of inclement weather, crewman?" He swung the light around the room, noting several wooden chests---just as rotten as the door---sitting along the side, and some tattered cloths on the walls. Little else remained in the room.  
  
"Hell no," Johnson said, crossing the room. "Wonder what all this is?"  
  
"It's ancient," said Trip, scanner in hand. "Millennia, even. I can't get a more precise date without going back to the ship." He carefully pulled the lid away from one of the boxes and sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out into his face. "Ah, there's nothing but crumpled old papers in here," he said, disappointed. Archer shook his head and wandered to the other side of the room, gazing up at the wall hangings. A leaping horse, with a very human-looking rider, pranced over a field of faded green. He felt a twinge of sadness as he looked at it, the same that always went through him when he saw remains of ancient cultures. Someone long in the past had made that with care and skill, each stitch carefully sewn.  
  
And now they were gone, just as his officers might be gone, without a trace except for a few random artifacts left behind. Where could they have gotten to?  
  
With a deep sigh, Archer ordered the crewmen to start setting up a camp, and flipped open his communicator to let T'Pol know they would be down here for a while longer than they'd expected.  
  
*********************** Betcha thought I was gonna send them to join Malcolm and Hoshi, didn't you? No....but don't worry, they have something to do as well. Leave one! 


	8. Grim Tidings

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
************************  
  
THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Eight: Grim Tidings  
  
At length the Lady Galadriel released them from her eyes, and she smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you shall sleep in peace."  
~J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
************************  
  
The rain outside showed no sign of letting up any time soon. Archer stood at the door, gazing out into the tempest, and sighed heavily. Already darkness stretched across the land, further obscuring any view into the surrounding countryside. He disliked this utter defenselessness, no warning whatsoever of any danger coming up the valley outside.  
  
Behind him, the search team lounged around a crackling fire built with the remains of some of the old chests. They hadn't liked to break up the ancient boxes, but as the practical Crewman Johnson pointed out, there was nothing except old, illegible papers inside them, and those were mostly crumbled into dust. Archer had examined some of the larger fragments, illogically hoping to find some clue about what had happened to his officers, but he found nothing but long lines in an alphabet he couldn't even being to understand. The curving, graceful letters struck him as very beautiful, as if the writer had been a great artist as well. Only one fragment proved to be anything he could understand, and that was a corner of what appeared to be a map of the area, with the ruin they were presently in sketched out in some detail.  
  
But the little map didn't offer very much help at all, since each place name was carefully labeled in the same unintelligible language. He smiled wryly, wondering why he had expected to find anything he could understand. Even Hoshi couldn't decipher a written language without some magic Rosetta Stone or some remnant of the original language preserved.  
  
With a heavy sigh he turned away from the door and went to sit next to Trip, who didn't even look up from the fire. The engineer's eyes were clouded and weary-looking, but he hardly even blinked.  
  
"Trip?" asked Archer, voice low so the security team, engaged in a somewhat subdued game of hearts, didn't hear. "Are you all right?"  
  
Trip shook his head and blinked. "I can't figure out where they went, that's all. How do two people just disappear, Jon?" He looked up at his friend for a long moment and then sighed, gazing back into the crackling fire.  
  
"You couldn't have known anything was going to happen," said Archer softly. "No one knew. There was absolutely nothing to indicate any sort of danger. Nothing at all."  
  
"I know," said Trip. "I just..." He spread his hands helplessly, shaking his head. "I just wish there was something more we could do."  
  
"Yeah, me too," said Archer. "But we are doing something anyway. We'll find them, Trip, eventually." He thought, but didn't add, alive or dead. "Come on, let's get some sleep."  
  
"Doubt I'll be able to sleep," said Trip. "I haven't gotten much since Liz.... and now, with Malcolm and Hoshi."  
  
"Well, just rest your eyes," Archer told him. "You'll feel better even if you don't actually sleep at all."  
  
Trip nodded, and despite his claims of insomnia was soon snoring away with one of the field blankets tangled around his legs. Archer, however, sat up until all of the security crewmen headed to bed and even then, he did not drowse, staring awake into the darkness.  
  
********************  
  
"I don't believe it!" cried Malcolm, clambering up the steps in such haste that he nearly fell on his face. "How did you survive that fall?" He gazed at the bedraggled man sitting on the steps of the citadel in awe, hardly able to trust the sight of his eyes. Ten minutes ago a great clamor of cheers had gone up from the people by the front gate, but Malcolm had been all the way on the other side of the fortress and only able to reach Aragorn now.  
  
Aragorn, face lined with weariness, cradling his arm as Éowyn tended to the bloody wound on his shoulder, merely shook his head. "I don't know, my friend. Brego, Théodred's horse, found me in the wilderness, half-dead from wound and water. If not for him, I would surely have perished."  
  
Around them women and children streamed into the caves, speaking in low murmurs. "It is very lucky for us that you did not," said Malcolm, moving out of the their way. Éowyn gave him a quick smile as she finished and stood up.  
  
"You will not think so when you see with your own eyes Saruman's army," said Aragorn. He got to his feet and flexed his arm, wincing slightly but quickly hiding it at Éowyn's disapproving look. "Ten thousand Uruk-hai. All bred merely to kill Men and nothing more." He nodded towards the line of men and boys waiting outside the armory and gripped Malcolm's shoulder briefly. "Come, we must get them armed."  
  
*******************  
  
Even Malcolm could tell that the weapons in the armory were little more than garbage. Chipped and rusted swords, ancient, brittle bows and arrows so old the fletching had fallen off, dented helmets---these were the weapons of last resort.  
  
Yet what was this, if not last resort? Malcolm thought wryly. Faced against ten thousand orcs, with no help to hope for, what other choice did they have? His own sword was old but in much better repair, having been from the armory of the well-equipped Edoras. Not that it really mattered, since he was little better than a beginner at the sword anyway; he would have to trust to luck if it came down to hand-to-hand combat.  
  
Aragorn had evidently reached the same conclusions about the poor weaponry, because he tossed the battered sword in his hand back onto the table with a look of disgust. "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he said to Gimli, Legolas, and Malcolm. "These are no soldiers!"  
  
"Most have seen too many winters!" Gimli said.  
  
"Or too few," added Legolas. His pale eyes swept over the room, taking in the improbable army of men young and old, all untrained and untested for war. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." The room went silent as all the Men stared at the Elf in surprise. "Boe a hyn: neled herain... dan caer menig!?" said Legolas derisively. Malcolm had no idea what the Elf had said, but Aragorn's eyes flashed dangerously.  
  
"Si beriathar hËn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras." Aragorn's tone seemed calm but his face belied his irritation. Malcolm wished Hoshi were here to translate, although he really had no idea if she knew whatever language they spoke.  
  
Legolas' jaw worked, his lips thinning in anger. The usually calm and collected Elf's shoulders were tense with fury, like a coiled snake about to spring. "Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!" he spat.*  
  
"Then I shall die as one of them!" cried Aragorn. The room went silent once more and with a disgusted exhalation Aragorn strode out of the room, eyes blazing. Legolas started after him, but Gimli put his hand on the Elf's arm, keeping him still.  
  
"Let him go, lad," said the Dwarf. "Let him be."  
  
"What did you say to him?" asked Malcolm, stunned by what had just taken place. Legolas merely shook his head.  
  
"I underestimated his loyalty to his people," said Legolas. "I will say no more than that."  
  
Malcolm saw the Elf's blue eyes flicker and knew there was more to it than Legolas admitted. "You're afraid," he said softly.  
  
Legolas' head whipped around. "What did you say?"  
  
"Ten thousand Uruk-hai," said Malcolm. "You fear what will happen this night." For a split second Legolas merely stared at him, and Malcolm wished desperately that he knew how to keep his mouth shut. "I am too," he added. "Ten thousand of those things? ONE of them nearly killed me once before. The odds are abysmal." He didn't want to keep talking, but something inside had cracked and he could not stop. "We may not last the night. We may all die before this reckless hate brought by Saruman to our doorstep!" Malcolm chuckled, though he saw nothing funny about any of it. "I'm not even supposed to be here! This isn't my world!" His breath caught in his chest as he thought of Enterprise, and suddenly he could not breathe at all. For a moment he struggled to bring air back to his lungs as the world around him blurred and darkened. Finally he gasped and oxygen flooded into his chest.  
  
He realized he was sitting on the ground with Gimli sharply whacking his back and Legolas' hands gripping both of his shoulders. "You are very brave, Malcolm Reed, to fight for a world that is not your own," said Legolas firmly as Malcolm's shoulders slumped, his breath finally coming easily. "Do not believe otherwise."  
  
"Are you all right, lad?" said Gimli, coming around to face him. "Were you hurt earlier? Lady Éowyn will fix you up if you need it."  
  
Malcolm felt his cheeks redden; silly to have a panic attack, when he'd lived through an Uruk-hai's assault and a Warg raid, silly to be brought down by fear. As if he heard Malcolm's thoughts, Legolas said, "The rigors of the mind may prove more deadly than any injury, Gimli." Standing up, he held out a hand to Malcolm and pulled the still-shaky man to his feet. "You speak truth, my friend, and I was blind to it. I do fear what will happen this night... much as I do not like to admit it."  
  
"We will fight," said Gimli. "That is what will happen this night." He grinned wickedly and gripped his ax with both hands. "Ha!! Bring them to my ax and they will feel the might of a Dwarf!"  
  
"More will fall to my bow," said Legolas, smiling. "Nothing that a Dwarf does can an Elf not do better!"  
  
"Is that a wager?" cried Gimli. "Let us count the score, then, and we shall see who is more fit for battle, an Elf or a Dwarf!"  
  
Malcolm laughed and shook his head. "I will stay out of this wager," he said. "You two have the advantage on me any day."  
  
"We will all do our share and more beyond!" cried Gimli, eyes alight with excitement. "You will have as many victories as any other man here tonight, lad. And many songs will be sung about this night, and they will proclaim how great is the might of the Dwarves!"  
  
Malcolm shook his head again, chuckling, and went to the door. The sun outside was setting, casting deep shadows over the fortress. Soon it would be dark. He could hear the women and children murmuring and scuffling outside as the last of them went into the caves. "I'm going to go find Hoshi," he called to the still-arguing Legolas and Gimli, and went up the stairs behind the last of the women.  
  
Éowyn stood at the entrance to the caves, pointing people to an empty place to sit. When she saw Malcolm she quickly directed the last group away and ran over to him. "What is wrong with Hoshi?" she asked, eyes wide. "She barely spoke to me at all this whole afternoon, and she moves as if she is in a dream."  
  
Malcolm followed her gaze to the dark-haired woman at the far end of the cave, currently carefully helping an elderly woman settle herself. She was moving rather slowly and hesitantly, and though he could not see quite well enough to confirm, she didn't appear to be speaking either, just mechanically putting things in order. As he watched she finished and went on to a mother and three tiny children perched between a pair of stalagmites. "She is kind and helpful as always," said Éowyn, "but silent and stony at the same time. What did you say to her?"  
  
"I don't think I said anything that would make her react this way," Malcolm replied, not taking his eyes from Hoshi. "I apologized for going off with the warriors and she didn't say anything. I thought she was angry. I asked her what she wanted me to say and she simply got up and walked off." But he remembered her blank gaze, and remembered the confusion in her eyes. She had not seemed to know him.  
  
"I don't know," said Éowyn. "I shall try to speak to her tonight, if I can." She glanced quickly over her shoulder, out to the fortress proper, to the quickly falling twilight.  
  
A horn blew outside, a very strange horn that did not sound like any horn Malcolm had ever heard before. Éowyn's eyes widened in surprise. "What is it?' Malcolm asked.  
  
"Elves!" she said, running past him. Malcolm followed quickly, and they gazed over the edge of the parapet to see a line of elegant, cloaked warriors marching up to the gate. He gazed at them in wonder, for he was used to Legolas by now but had never seen any other Elves. "They come to fight! Look, they are armored," said Éowyn. "I have glimpsed Elves in the forests, and sometimes when they pass through our lands they visit Edoras, but never are they clad in the gear of battle."  
  
A surge of relief swelled in Malcolm's chest; perhaps there was some hope for this night after all. "If they are half the fighters Legolas is, they are very welcome indeed."  
  
Éowyn smiled. "Hope remains," she said, and turned away, heading for the caves once more. "Good luck this night, Malcolm Reed," she added.  
  
"Good luck to us all," he whispered when she had gone, and with one last look at the dark valley before him, went to find Aragorn to see what he should do in the battle.  
  
*******************  
  
Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Grab more arrows. Reload. Shoot.  
  
He hardly knew how long they had been standing atop this wall, he was hardly conscious of anything except the seething mass of orcs and Uruk-Hai below. The battle drums pounded in his mind and the cries of the dying echoed in his ears. The iron tang of blood and the dampness of rain mingled in his mouth and nose; the water from the storm dripped from the edge of his ill-fitting helmet.  
  
The wall exploded, and Malcolm wondered at it briefly.... he did not know they had gunpowder. But he did not have time to peruse it further, because orcs poured in through the gap and he had to shoot but aim carefully so he did not hit any of the Men or Elves mixed amongst the Uruk-hai. Aim, shoot, reload, aim, shoot... This was nothing like a battle in space. Nothing. And he hated it more than anything else in the world.  
  
But he kept fighting.  
  
The retreat had been sounded; they were fighting hand to hand in the keep now, no more arrows, just stab and turn, stab and turn, dodge, stab, kick, punch, duck, kill, run, start it over again. He dared not look out to the valley and see how many were left. So many Uruk-hai out there, just waiting until they could actually get close enough to kill the weary Men and Elves in Helm's Deep. Such terrifying, relentless hate---he wanted to stop and just lay down, let it all pass away into the darkness, be washed away by the rain...  
  
Théoden shouted at the men to get inside the keep, quickly now, hurry, hurry... Malcolm saw and moved without thinking between the king and an Orc that rushed toward his back, throwing the old man out of the way and blocking the vicious blow of the Orc's sword with a violent, desperate parry. He had done this now so many times that he simply let instinct take over fighting the Orc.  
  
But he had battled too hard, fought too long with exhausted arms, and was simply too slow. The Orc blade slid home, crunching through his ribs and into the left side of his chest with uncanny accuracy. For a moment pain exploded through him, as he looked down dumbly at the crude black blade. In an instant that seemed like a lifetime he toppled to the ground, his sword clattering loudly on the stones.  
  
And there he stayed, eyes wide and unblinking, staring up at the first rays of dawn that streaked red through the clouds. Aragorn passed by, quickly falling back as per order, and saw nothing within those pale blue eyes; gently, in a stolen moment of quiet while the battle raged around him, he closed them and retreated back to safety inside the keep.  
  
The first light of the sun shone through the clouds, and the darkness was no more.  
  
****************** * Translation: Legolas: "And they should be...three hundred against ten thousand!" Aragorn: "They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edoras." Legolas: "They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!" 


	9. A Shadow and a Threat

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Nine: A Shadow and a Threat  
  
"Concerning this thing, my lords, you now all know enough for the understanding of our plight, and of Sauron's. If he regains it, your valour is vain, and his victory will be swift and complete: so complete that none can foresee the end of it while this world lasts. If it is destroyed, then he will fall; and his fall will be so low that none can foresee his arising ever again. For he will lose the best part of the strength that was native to him in his beginning, and all that was made or begun with that power will crumble, and he will be maimed for ever, becoming a mere spirit of malice that gnaws itself in the shadows, but cannot again grow or take shape." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Hoshi sat next to Éowyn, staring into space as the thunder of the battle pounded away outside. "We should have gone through the tunnel earlier," said the king's niece in a low voice, wringing her hands. "Perhaps we would have stood a better chance of escape. We will be trapped in this cavern, Uruk-hai behind us and before us."  
  
"You will upset the people," said Hoshi dully. For a moment she was rather surprised to hear her own voice, because it did not feel as if it had been she herself who spoke. Yet the feeling passed away as quickly as it had come, and she sank back into her stupor.  
  
Éowyn looked at her, startled. "Here we are now!" she said in surprise. "Not a word all night, you with such a gift for tongues! What ails you, my friend?"  
  
"Nothing," said Hoshi. "I am as well as can be expected, thank you." Again she felt the odd sensation of someone else speaking through her mouth, but she did not question it.  
  
Éowyn sighed, a long, heavy breath that seemed too weary to have come from one so young. "Hoshi... please tell me what is wrong. Malcolm is worried, I am worried... you walk as though you are in a dream, like the world around you is not real."  
  
With a great effort Hoshi spoke, without the feeling of otherness touching her voice this time. "I want to go home," she said simply, and never had such simple words been so difficult to say. Éowyn's eyes filled with tears.  
  
"I know, dear," she said, putting her arms around Hoshi and hugging tightly. "I would like to go home, too. I know you mean your ship, but Edoras is my home and I miss it. We all miss it." She wept softly, hiding it from the frightened people around them, and her tears stained Hoshi's shirt.  
  
Hoshi let her cry, neither weeping herself nor returning the embrace, and simply sat like a stone. At length Éowyn stopped, wiping her eyes with a corner of her sleeve; she had shed but a few tears, really, and the only sign of her fear was a slight shine in her eyes and her red cheeks. The old women cried out as a particularly loud boom shook the cave, and Éowyn went to assist them, leaving Hoshi alone at the back of the cavern.  
  
:My dear, I have found a way to return you to your home.:  
  
"You have?" whispered Hoshi, mindful of the people around her, though she doubted they heard; everyone was much too engaged in listening to the noises of the battle outside.  
  
:I have. But it will be a very long journey, my dear Hoshi, so I must ask you to trust me implicitly.:  
  
"I do," murmured Hoshi.  
  
:There's a good child. Now you must leave the Rohan behind, for they try to conceal this way from you. They do not want you to leave. Behind you is a tunnel that leads out into the mountains. My servants will meet you there to assist you.:  
  
Hoshi stood up and slipped away from her seat, tiptoeing over the cold stone floor of the cave. A tunnel... ah, there. Yes, a tunnel, there.  
  
:It is straight and narrow, and there are no turns. You do not need a torch.:  
  
She nodded and went into the darkness, keeping one finger on the wall. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she could not recall what it could be, so she went on into the black tunnel. The light from the big cavern dimmed and finally disappeared altogether, and yet she walked still. The floor was rough and uneven, and she fell at times, but her friend had spoken truth: there were no side passages or bends to get lost in, and each time she fell, she picked herself up and went on.  
  
For an endless time she traveled through the darkness, until she wondered if she had really ever seen light or if it was simply a strange dream that somewhere out there an entire world existed. The black night was complete.  
  
But finally a pinpoint of light shone far ahead of her. She had to squint to make it out but as it grew steadily larger, she realized that it was indeed the end of the tunnel. It grew bigger and bigger as she walked, until suddenly she was out of the tunnel, stepping onto a rocky field where a group of Uruk-hai awaited her, hulking figures in the dim morning light. Her mind screamed at her to run, flee, do anything to get away, but her limbs would not respond.  
  
:These are my servants,: said the voice in her head. :They will not harm you.:  
  
:You have done well,: said another voice. :I will help you from here, child.:  
  
Three of the Uruk-hai, their faces emblazoned with a gleaming white hand, jerked their heads up to stare at the other five, who had a red eye painted on their crudely-made armor. What was that red eye? It looked very menacing, and again Hoshi felt that there was something she had once known about it and could no longer recall. She did not even flinch as the Uruk- hai of the red eye charged the others, and ripped their enemies to shreds before her.  
  
:You and I have much to speak of,: said the second voice. Red sparks flashed in her mind, and a great lidless eye, wreathed in flame, burned behind her eyelids. In her gut Hoshi quivered with terror but could do nothing. :The white wizard has done enough for you, but I am the only one who may help you now. You may call me Annatar, my dear. Go with the Uruk- hai. They will bring you to me.:  
  
A feeling of warmth swept over Hoshi, and all her questions flooded from her mind. The biggest of the Uruk-hai, his lips bloody from the recent feast, swept her up and over his shoulder. Off they trotted, going east towards the part of the sky that never grew dark, though the sun's rays swept up from the east. First light of the day, it was, and yet it could not win over the shadow.  
  
******************  
  
Morning light broke over the ruins with a glorious blaze of white sunshine through the high, narrow windows. Archer yawned and stretched, briefly wondering where he was and then sighing as it all came flooding back. At least the rain was gone. He stood, careful not to wake any of the sleeping away team, and padded outside.  
  
As he stood at the edge of the high tower, simply looking out at the breathtaking vista, he blinked furiously, trying to clear the dust from his eyes. Below him a thousand shadows danced at the corners of his eyes, granting him glimpses of men on horses fighting things he had no name for but monster. When he looked at them straight on, though, they vanished into nothingness, leaving him alone on the top of the battlements.  
  
Archer sighed. As soon as he found his officers, they were getting off this screwy planet and staying off it. No more shore leave, they were just leaving. A nice long sleep in his own bed, back on ship, would be far more relaxing than this place. His nerves were already frazzled well beyond acceptable levels, and he was sure his blood pressure would get him a nice lecture from the doctor when they got back.  
  
If he had thought his stress level was high before, it was nothing compared to the shock he got when he turned around.  
  
"Malcolm!" he shouted, dashing forward and dropping to his knees next to the bloody, battered form of his armory officer. Blood, blood everywhere, pooled around a deep wound in the lieutenant's chest; Archer moved to try and stem the gush and frowned when his fingers met nothing but air. He waved his hand once, twice, three times over Malcolm's chest, and each time it went right through the man's chest. "What in hell?" whispered the captain, rocking back on his heels. "I'm delusional. I'm dreaming." He stared at Reed's dead body, face far too pale and chest completely still save for the now-sluggish trickle of blood. What on earth was the lieutenant wearing? Chain mail? He waved his hand through Reed's chest once more, irrationally hoping somehow that the lieutenant would solidify and then maybe magically reanimate himself.  
  
To his very great surprise one of his wishes came true. With a great gasp Reed's chest heaved and his mouth opened, a gush of blood pouring out to join the other stains on his torso. Archer, too shocked to think, simply stood and watched as the lieutenant's eyes fluttered and color returned to his face. One pale hand twitched, and then slowly dragged itself across an expanse of chest, probing the large hole in the chain mail, beneath which there had been a deep hole in flesh but a moment ago.  
  
"Well, that's a nasty thing," whispered Reed, clenching his jaw. "Bloody hell."  
  
"Malcolm?" said Archer, wanting to say something else but afraid that he would only gibber in shock if he tried, "Malcolm? What the hell?" Whoops. Failed at that.  
  
Reed's eyes widened and he struggled to sit up, gazing in utter bemusement at his captain. "Sir!" he gasped, going pale. "Captain Archer!" He looked around, eyes touching on things which remained invisible to the captain's eyes, and then back at the man kneeling next to him. "I can see right through you, Captain," whispered the lieutenant. "What are you? A dream? I should be dead... I was dead. I felt it go right through me, sir... And such things I saw..."  
  
He stared down at his hands, clenched in his lap, and then looked back at the captain. Archer did not like the look he saw in Reed's eyes---something was different about the man. He was not the armory officer he had been two days ago, and though Archer could not know it, he was not even the man whose eyes Aragorn had gently closed a world away.  
  
"Malcolm, stay here. Trip's here, we'll get you out of this fix and you can tell us everything that's happened to you," said Archer firmly, desperately. "That's an order, Lieutenant."  
  
"Oh, it is an order, Captain," said Reed, standing up. "And one which I would obey."  
  
"Trip!" shouted Archer. "Trip, get out here right now!"  
  
Reed's blue eyes twinkled with a merriness Archer had only a few times ever seen in them, and never to such a degree. Trip, hair mussed and rubbing sleep from his eyes, stumbled quickly from the doorway of their night's sanctuary and stopped dead, staring at the translucent figure before him. "Malcolm?" he asked incredulously, voice heavy with fear and incomprehension. "My God, what's happened to you, buddy?"  
  
What had happened to him? Archer wanted desperately to ask but his lips and tongue were dry; the words simply would not come. Reed smiled at them both, a kindly smile that looked out of place on him---it was a smile that the old, fierce Malcolm would never have let cross his face.  
  
"I have not lived long enough to remember what I know," said Malcolm softly. "And I have lived too long to remember all that I have done." He stood looking at them, and it seemed to their eyes that he grew paler in the morning sunlight. Sunlight shone through his face, casting him away into eternity; light as a swan's feather he was, and if he should fall, he would float upon the wind.  
  
"My place is, for the moment, no longer with you, my friends," Reed said, a touch of sadness coloring his voice. "I become something that I am not, yet have always been. I ride in the shadow of the great deeds that must be done, of the great ones who must come into their power now."  
  
Into thin air he faded, drifting out of their sight, until only his voice remained to reach their ears. Trip and Archer stood mesmerized as the wind eddied around them. "I have been sent back---for a brief time, until my task is done, my friends. Faint to my ears comes the gathered rumor of all lands: the springing and the dying, the song and the weeping, and the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone. And so I pass away from you, my friends... Look to the Black Tower, for there shall be my reckoning and the pivot upon which this war shall turn."  
  
And he was gone.  
  
"What in the hell just happened?" murmured Trip after a very long moment of stunned silence.  
  
"If I knew I'd tell you," replied Archer, still staring at the paving stones where his armory officer had vanished before his eyes. "The one thing I understood in all of that was that he was going to a Black Tower."  
  
"And what does that mean?" grumbled Tucker. "Seems just as mystifying as the rest of it, Jon!"  
  
Archer shook his head slowly. "No," he said, and went back into the room where the security officers were putting together a make-shift breakfast from ready-to-eat rations. Trip followed him as he picked his way through their sleeping bags and their packs to the pile of papers laying just beyond Archer's own knapsack. He sifted through the papers until he found the unreadable map, with such a careful drawing of the fortress they currently occupied on it.  
  
"Look," he said, gently running his finger over the ancient paper, "the Black Tower."  
  
Sketched in miniature, a fearsome tower rose from the foothills inside a curiously rectangular mountain range, a foreboding little drawing with a great eye sketched at the apex of the black spire.  
  
"The Black Tower," said Trip, staring in awe over Archer's shoulder.  
  
Archer replied, "The Black Tower indeed."  
  
***********************  
  
Well....I was tempted to be cruel and leave this part until next chapter but then this one would have been too short. What's in store for our intrepid armory officer? Keep reading... I know...and you might, too, if you're clever enough to read the signs. 


	10. The Black Wizard

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: Wow, I have smart readers! You guys rock!  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Ten: The Black Wizard  
  
Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising He rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended; Over death, over dread, over doom lifted Out of loss, out of life, unto long glory. ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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He felt... different.  
  
Not a bad difference, really. Just strange. He remembered things which he had never seen... in his mind's eye he saw light, brilliant and glorious; he heard song which echoed throughout the ages of the earth, pure and holy and good. He felt warmth and kindness, and wonder.  
  
But there was also darkness and discord. The harmony broke and yet curiously it still weaved in and out of the first song, a kind of grim counterpoint to the older harmony which lent an air of shadow to the whole train of the music. He shuddered to hear it, covering his ears, and closed his eyes against the visible darkness. But an ear covered still hears muffled song, and an eye closed sees nothing at all but darkness.  
  
So he looked away, where the sky shone blue, untainted by heavy cloud and unending darkness, and knew that he could not ignore it, for the darkness still lurked even if he could not see it.  
  
In his right hand he held a long, midnight-black staff with a gleaming round knob at the very end of it, slightly flattened like the prow of a certain ship. Of this he approved. The heavy chain mail of the night's battle had vanished; in its place were soft, comfortable leggings, tunic, and cloak, all of the deepest black.  
  
He stood and waited, leaning against the ebony staff, until a gleaming figure clad all in white climbed the steps to the keep, and nodded solemnly in greeting.  
  
Gandalf's face showed no surprise; rather, he smiled gently and gripped Malcolm's shoulder. "Welcome, brother," he said in the most ancient of tongues, which no Elf, Man, or Dwarf has ever spoken or ever will. "Tórdilthen, you are welcomed and celebrated, in this time to whence you have come."  
  
"Yet it is but for a short time I come, Olórin," said Malcolm, though he knew not how he knew this. "I am from two worlds, made as one for the sake of both. Elowë you knew me as old, as Malcolm they know me now, and we have become one from two."  
  
"Trusted page to Eönwë the Herald," murmured Gandalf. "Fitting, for the warrior spirit rides within you both. Your aid is greatly welcomed. I fear these Men, brave as they are, fight a losing battle. All our hopes rest with one small hobbit carrying a burden greater than he should be able to bear."  
  
"And yet he bears it," said Malcolm, seeing in his mind's eye a clear-eyed young hobbit with dark curls and an innocent, wondering expression. Frodo Baggins---one who should never have been called upon to do so great and terrible a deed, and one who bore it with patient steadfastness. He knew him only through what Gandalf put into his mind, but nonetheless he saw the other Istari's admiration of the gentle young hobbit and understood some part of it. He met Gandalf's eyes and felt the worry in the old wizard's mind. He saw the peaceful Shire in his mind's eye, though he himself had not been there.  
  
It was very strange---part of him knew every inch of this world, every forest and glade, every stream and sea, and another part of him saw it through completely inexperienced eyes. His task would require both sides of the separate entities, knowledge of the past and knowledge of the far future. He knew this, though he knew not what his task was quite yet. Not entirely, anyway. Mere shadows had been revealed to him, possibilities and reflections and no more.  
  
He could have stayed with Archer. He had the power to do so, if he chose. But he would not do that. Not yet. Not while Hoshi remained, for she played a great part in his coming task.  
  
"The Enemy grows stronger," said Gandalf suddenly, looking out towards the eastern sky. "And your friend has gone to him."  
  
Malcolm cast out with his mind and found that she was no longer in Helm's Deep. Her lethargy, her odd behavior, everything made sense suddenly. "I should have seen it earlier," he said fiercely, eyes widening with realization. "Saruman! Her mind was troubled by thoughts of her own world. Easy for him to reach in and take what he wanted, with her defenses weakened as such."  
  
"Saruman is no longer a threat," said Gandalf, his eyes glittering. "Saruman has been overthrown this night, by Men here and by the Ents at Isengard. No, Hoshi is a danger to us on a far greater plane now. She goes to Sauron, tórdilthen. He has seen in her mind what I saw in yours at our first meeting---great ships which fly through space, and machines capable of wondrous things. Machines which do not work through spells and power but clever manipulation of natural things."  
  
"What can he do with such knowledge?" Malcolm replied. "He has nothing to make it with, no technology to create ships and transporters and phase cannons."  
  
"I cannot see his purpose," said Gandalf. "The mind of Sauron is strong, and he hides it well. Only through the palantiri might I try such a thing, but I fear even I should not be able to see his plan and lose my own mind in the attempt." His frown deepened, and for a long moment they stood in silence. The sun drew higher in the sky, and golden beams lit up Gandalf's long white beard and hair, shining silver like precious mithril. Malcolm's dark robes fluttered in the wind, shadows deepening among the folds of the cloth. "I am sorry, Elowë," said Gandalf after a time, gripping the younger Istari's shoulder with one strong hand. "You have come into a time of strife. There is much in this world I would have you see and experience, but for now there is no time for such things."  
  
"I will see them when this is done," replied Malcolm softly, his head bowed. "We shall all see wondrous things when the darkness passes." He gripped his staff and thought of Hoshi, somewhere off in the eastern wilderness, and a surge of anger flowed through him. What could Sauron want with the kind, gentle Hoshi?  
  
Gently Gandalf tapped his shoulder, and they walked together down the steps of Helm's Deep, out to the gate where Théoden, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all stood together just inside the gate, surveying the damage. To Malcolm's surprise and pleasure, Éomer stood with them, face grim as he looked at the shattered, splintered wood. At their approach he turned around, still grim until his eyes lit upon Malcolm and he nodded with a smile. Coming forward, he gripped Malcolm's forearm and then drew him into a bear hug, clapping the smaller man on the back. "You have done well, my friend," he said. "Wormtongue flees and Éowyn is well. Honor to you, Malcolm Reed, and my gratitude."  
  
"I had very little to do with Wormtongue," Malcolm told him, grinning back. "Thank Gandalf for that deed, for it was Saruman himself who controlled Rohan, and none other could have driven him out."  
  
The grin faded from his face as he looked away from Éomer to the startled expressions of the others. Aragorn in particular beheld him with a stare of pure shock. "I believed you to be dead, Malcolm," he said in amazement. "I closed your eyes myself. And yet here you stand!"  
  
"What has happened?" cried Théoden. "You, a stranger and no valuable warrior, alive when hundreds of my good riders lie dead on the battlefield? I saw you die!"  
  
"And if it had not been for him, my lord, you would be dead right now," snapped Gandalf. "It is not for you to question the ways of the Valar! Give welcome to the newest of the Istari and be glad of his aid, for we will need it before the end. Do you want the world of Men to fall, Théoden king? Then why do you fight? Better to merely step back and let Sauron cover all the lands of Middle-earth with darkness and death!"  
  
Théoden glared, but he said nothing.  
  
Legolas said, "Welcome, Malcolm of the Istari," and bowed elegantly.  
  
Gimli, not to be outdone, clapped him hard on the arm and said, "Glad to have you, lad! Glad to have you before and even more so now!"  
  
Malcolm, smiling back, caught the gaze of the elder wizard. Gandalf's eyes twinkled, and he gently winked at the youngest of the Istari. "You are truly a part of this world now," said Aragorn, with a nod and a smile.  
  
And Malcom, thinking of the look in Archer and Trip's eyes when he had walked away from them, wondered at the circumstance, and said no more as the talk turned to the gate and the odd forest of trees that had sprung up outside the valley overnight. He was of this world, he thought, but he was also of the other.  
  
In the back of his mind, the Malcolm-knowledge and the Elowë-knowledge mingled, yet still he knew when this was all over, he must choose the world in which to stay. But which to choose...  
  
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Tórdilthen: little brother (Please correct my Elvish if it is wrong.) Olórin: Gandalf's first name, when he was a Maia spirit. The Maiar are lesser spirits of the Ainur, servants of the Valar. Elowë is completely my invention. Eönwë the Herald: mightiest of the Maiar, servant to Manwë the Wind Lord. His strength in battle equals even the Valar.  
  
Sorry this is a bit short. This was a very hard chapter to write. I skimmed the Simarillion for the information I need, as well as Tolkien: The Illustrated Encyclopedia, but I am not very well versed in much beyond the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. If anything is incorrect, please let me know. 


	11. Flotsam and Jetsam

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Eleven: Flotsam and Jetsam  
  
"Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those you wear now. A modest plan. Hardly one in which my help is needed!" ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Hoshi's strange companions ran through the day and into the night, ceaselessly pounding over the rocks and grasses of the Rohan plains. Off in the distance smoke from a village curled over tongues of fire licking at the sky.  
  
:Tell me more, my dear,: said Annatar. :How did you come here?:  
  
:A black ball,: said Hoshi, looking to the west and the faintest glimmer of the setting sun. :It burned with a strange fire inside. We touched it and we traveled through a very strange place and then we were here.: Her memories were clouded. It was very hard to think about anything.  
  
:A link between this world and yours...: said Annatar. :How very curious. Tell me about your ship. About all these faces I see in your mind. They are not all Men, are they not?:  
  
She watched the plume of white drift up into the black abyss, fading into nothingness as the darkness took it over. :We've met a lot of different people on this trip,: she said in her mind. :The Andorians, the Klingons, the Xindi... so many more, too. They're all out there in those stars, and Enterprise got to make contact with them. Plus, on our ship there's Doctor Phlox, who is Denobulan, and Sub-Commander T'Pol, who is Vulcan:  
  
:Your ship, tell me of your ship.:  
  
:It's a warp five ship,: Hoshi thought to him. :That means we can go five times the speed of light, I think... or something like that. I don't understand it, really. Trip could tell you.:  
  
:Who is Trip?:  
  
:Our engineer,: Hoshi said. Her eyelids drooped; the rhythmic stride of the orc who carried her lulled her mind into drowsiness. :He can build anything. He treats the warp engines like they are his children. If anything's wrong, he won't rest until he's fixed it, whether it's the engines or the communications array or the transporters.: She saw them each in her mind as she thought the words, lingering fondly on each. Such things she had taken for granted on that ship; she might well never have them again.  
  
A flash in her mind; a red eye; and then Annatar's calm voice was back. :How interesting these machines are. How much scope they have, how many possibilities. Your people have mastered a power of which my world only dreams.:  
  
:What power is that?: Hoshi asked, and again the red eye brightened in her mind, sparks flying from it. She saw rings, gold and silver and set with jewels, some carved with indecipherable letters; and she saw one ring, plainer than all the rest, yet when her mind's eye glimpsed it she felt power. And she felt Annatar's desire to possess this little thing.  
  
:I know the secrets of metal,: said Annatar, his mental voice smooth. :I know how to mold it. Its power is my own and none but me should wield it.: A hard edge crept into his words, and Hoshi shivered a little. :None but me should wield it!:  
  
The fire in her mind blossomed and erupted into great leaping shivers of red and gold. Hoshi's head pounded, and her eyes closed, sending her deep into the realms of sleep. Just before she lost all shreds of consciousness she heard Annatar say, :But perhaps I will not need it...: A deep, insiduous laugh, a flash of circuitry, electricity... for an instant she saw the same glass globe that had brought them here. And then she was gone, deep in the depths of a restless, dreamless sleep, bouncing gently on the shoulders of her monstrous captors.  
  
The orcs continued their relentless march onward, heedless of the conversation between their master and their captive. They did not care in any case; they merely obeyed their master's orders, no more, no less.  
  
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Malcolm liked the heavy, solemn quiet of the trees. The green forest around him breathed life from every leaf and branch, from every little bit of moss and every fern. The footsteps of the horse beneath him fell so softly on the soft forest loam that he barely heard it. It was a sight rarely seen when one lived on a starship, a forest such as this. The other knowledge in his mind whispered memories of greater forests, higher trees, more lovely and ancient than even this venerable growth, and he wondered if he would ever see it again.  
  
He had run wild in the woods in his youth, both as Man and Maia, both loving the trees and the wildness and the sound of the wind creaking the branches. In one life he had barely left, in the other he had been there far less than he would have liked, but both treasured the time equally. He had clambered high into the tops of the branches, right into the canopy, and looked out over the waving sea of green, the only sea he ever really appreciated. Ah, but our sea is different, said the other inner voice, and for an instant a wave of longing for the crashing of the waves on the shore swept through him, and for once Malcolm thought of the great expanses of water without terror. When he looked at the stars from his window he felt the same way, as if the universe were endless and it was all his to explore. This was what his father saw, he knew, and for once he understood the man's love for the Royal Navy, for the open water. How curious that he had never seen the parallel before now.  
  
Gandalf rode beside him, gazing into the dark branches above them, his lips pursed and eyes crinkled. He thought of Frodo, Malcolm know, and once more he wished he had met this little hobbit whom Gandalf held in such high regard. Such an unlikely person to carry the fate of them all hanging innocently on a silver chain around his neck.  
  
But it was what Sauron would not expect, of course. They had a chance. A slim chance, yes, but a chance nonetheless.  
  
More than Hoshi had, perhaps. Sick dread filled his heart at the thought of the little linguist in the hands of Sauron. Gandalf had talked him out of going after her earlier, had found him in the stables preparing to ride out into the wilderness. Deep in his heart he knew that such a venture was madness, but thoughts of her among the brutish Uruk-hai and the filthy Orcs had riled him to a frenzy. He shook his head in desperation, and Gandalf looked at him sharply.  
  
"I cannot sense Sauron's plans for Hoshi, tórdilthen, but I feel that he will do her no harm," said the old wizard softly.  
  
"I know," said Malcolm. "I feel it too." His hands clenched around the reins. "It is as you and Frodo---you know they may be in danger, and you cannot help them. He wants Hoshi for something, but I cannot fathom what, only that he needs no torture to take what he wants from her mind." He fell silent for a moment. "I suppose that in itself is a form of torture."  
  
"I am sorry, Malcolm," said Gandalf, and his words were sincere. "I would charge in with you and rescue the fair maid. I would take the burden from Frodo and dispose of it myself were I able. But that is not my part to play in this war. And it is not yours either."  
  
"What is my part?" said Malcolm bitterly. "I cannot see it yet."  
  
"Nor can I," said Gandalf. "But I see enough that I know you will not end up dead on the plains of Rohan chasing after Uruk-hai. Be patient, be of good advice, and in time it will become clear to us."  
  
"Do you know your part?" asked Malcolm, the words bursting from his lips before he could silence them.  
  
The old wizard smiled, his wise blue eyes sad. "I know as you know," he said. "Snatches and no more. The tide comes in and out, and I see possibilities and pathways that may be and may not be, and many that I think shall come to pass do not." He looked away, into the depths of the forest, clucking gently to Shadowfax. "Our actions will become clear, for we have purpose in all that we do, tórdilthen, but we must be patient and watchful, for a missed opportunity may turn the tables in an instant, and another may turn them round once more."  
  
He felt the truth in the old wizard's words, though he did not like it. "Malcolm," said Gandalf quietly, "it is good to have friends in this world to help you through. Let them be your strength."  
  
"I have changed since coming here," Malcolm replied, "in more ways than the readily apparent. I shall try not to slip into my old habits... I have glimpsed friendship here and I should not let it go so easily."  
  
"That is why you came back to us," said Gandalf, smiling sadly. "You could have stepped back to your own world, and left us all behind. But you did not, and for that I thank you."  
  
"I could not leave this world," said Malcolm, "and I could not leave Hoshi." He thought of the raven-haired young woman as she had been on Enterprise, lively, intelligent, and loyal, and his fingers gripped hard at the reins. "The purposes are one and the same, for something shall come of her being here that only I will be able to prevent. And I could not let your world be destroyed by the Eye, for I have come to love it."  
  
"I also," said Gandalf. "And it will be a shame to leave it..." He did not speak further, and Malcolm did not press. They rode in silence, a little bubble of solemnity among the earnest war talk of Aragorn, Éomer, and Théoden and the bantering of Gimli and Legolas. The trees soon began to thin out, and presently Malcolm glimpsed a shining black tower through the canopy, four sharp spires protruding from the top.  
  
"Isengard," said Gandalf. "The home of Saruman, once the White and now nothing."  
  
"It is impressive," said Malcolm, gazing up at the high tower, which seem to grow ever larger as they approached.  
  
"As was Saruman, before his mind turned to metal," said Gandalf with just a hint of sadness in his voice. He spoke in the ancient tongue. "He was brilliant and clever, wisest of us all. He was a friend, too. And yet the darkness proved too much for him, and he succumbed to it, dreaming his own dreams of power instead of wisdom." He smiled ruefully. "Now look how he has fallen."  
  
They came to the edge of the woods, where a ruined, crumbling wall surrounded by knee-deep water loomed before them, blocking their view of all but the very top of the high tower. Malcolm stared, unprepared for his first sight of what he knew must be the mysterious Halflings---the hobbits!  
  
There in front of them, perched on a great rubble-heap, were two small figures lying on it at their ease, grey-clad, hardly to be seen among the stones. There were bottles and bowls and platters laid beside them, as if they had just eaten well, and now rested from their labor. One seemed asleep; the other, with crossed legs and arms behind his head, leaned back against a broken rock and sent from his mouth long wisps and little rings of thin blue smoke.  
  
One leapt to his feet and waved merrily. "Welcome, my lords," he cried, "to Isengard! We are the doorwardens. The Lord Saruman is within; but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or, doubtless he would be here to welcome such honorable guests."  
  
"You, you young rascals!" cried Gimli from his seat behind Legolas. "A merry hunt you've led us, and here we find you feasting and---and smoking!"  
  
"We are sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," said the other hobbit, grinning. "The salted pork is particularly good!" He took a huge bite and chewed, nodding at Gimli with a mischievous glint in his eye.  
  
"Salted pork?" said the Dwarf in awe.  
  
"Hobbits," muttered Gandalf. "And was it Saruman that ordered you to guard his damaged doors, and watch for the arrival of guests, when your attention could be spared from plate and bottle?"  
  
"No, good sir, the matter escaped him," said the first hobbit gravely. "He has been much occupied. Our orders came from Treebeard, who has taken over the management of Isengard."  
  
Théoden nudged his mount forward and regarded the two hobbits with a long, solemn gaze. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf? The days are fated to be filled with marvels. Already I have seen many since I left my house; and now here before my eyes stands yet another of the folk of legend. Are these the Halflings, that some among us call the Hobytlan?"  
  
"Hobbits, if you please, lord," said the second one, standing up as well. "I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, though you may call me Pippin, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc, who is called Merry. And here is another marvel, for we have never before found people that knew any story concerning hobbits, though we have wandered in many lands!"  
  
"We have but little lore about them," replied Théoden, and Malcolm was quite surprised to see the hint of a smile at the corners of the old man's mouth. "They are said to do little and to avoid the sight of men, being able to vanish in a twinkling; and they can change their voices to resemble the piping of birds. But I had not heard that they spouted smoke from their mouths." A true smile lit on the king's face, an expression Malcolm had not seen before on the grim old monarch, and he was amazed at the power of these little people to so cheer an old, bitter man.  
  
"It is an art which we have not practiced for more than a few generations. It was Tobald Hornblower, of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, who first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens..."  
  
Gandalf, looking alarmed, broke in. "You do not know your danger, Théoden king," he said urgently, "for these hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss their history and their families to the ninth degree if you encourage them! Some other time, perhaps, but for now, I must speak with Treebeard as soon as possible! Where is he, Merry? Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"  
  
"He left a message," said Merry, "and I was coming to it, but I have been hindered by other questions! I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there, and he will welcome them. I may add that they will also find food of the best there, it was discovered and selected by your humble servants."  
  
Gandalf laughed. "That is better!" he said. "Well, Théoden, will you ride with me to find Treebeard? When you see Treebeard, you will learn much. For Treebeard is Fangorn, and the eldest and chief of the Ents, and when you speak with him you will hear the speech of the oldest of all living things."  
  
"I will come with you," said Théoden. "Bring them along," he added, motioning to Merry and Pippin. Both hobbits bowed; Malcolm nodded to them as they straightened up and rode away, leaving Éomer, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli behind to scoop the hobbits into the saddle with them. The young wizard could feel the curious eyes of the hobbits on his back, but he did not tarry as he followed Théoden and Gandalf around to the other side of the tower.  
  
He scarce believed his eyes when he saw what he had believed to be a stationary tree move and turn towards them. "Young Master Gandalf!" His tawny eyes lit curiously on Malcolm. "And a new wizard... to replace Saruman?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking," said Malcolm shortly. "I have come to help."  
  
Treebeard's limbs creaked as he bent to look at them all. "You were not part of this world before," said the ancient Ent slowly in Old Entish (Malcolm marveled anew at his sudden innate mastery of all the strange languages of Middle-Earth) and looked up towards the sky. "Nor were we, for a time," Treebeard added sadly, and switched back into Common Speech. "I'm glad you have come, both of you. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a wizard here to manage, locked in his tower."  
  
Gandalf shook his head. "And there he must remain, but I have now a last task to do before I go: I must pay Saruman a farewell visit. Dangerous, and probably useless, but it must be done." He nudged Shadowfax and trotted toward the long black stair leading into the tower. "Saruman, Saruman!" he cried, and struck the wall with his staff. "Saruman, come forth!"  
  
For some time there was no answer. At last the window above the door was unbarred, and they saw a figure standing at the rail, looking down upon them: an old man, swathed in a great cloak, the color of which was not easy to tell, for it changed if they moved their eyes or if he stirred. His face was long, with a high forehead, he had deep darkling eyes, hard to fathom, though the look that they bore now was grave and malevolent, and a little weary. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black still showed about his lips and ears.  
  
"Well?" he said now with gentle question. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day? Two at least of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, why have you not come before, and as a friend?"  
  
Théoden looked at him with a steady gaze, quiet and patient. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing. Malcolm felt the compulsion within Saruman's words, and hoped that the darkness would not take Théoden once again. He gripped his staff a little tighter, and saw to his left that Gandalf did the same.  
  
"What have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long years, can bring?" Still Théoden did not answer. Whether he strove with anger or doubt none could say. Éomer spoke.  
  
"Lord, hear me!" he said. "Have we ridden forth to victory only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? What aid would he give to you, forsooth? All he desires is to escape from his plight. Remember Théodred and Helm's Deep, my lord!"  
  
"If we speak of poisoned tongues what shall we say of yours, young serpent?" snapped Saruman. Éomer's eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment his hand strayed to his sword.  
  
"You try to sweep the very foundations of our land from under our feet," said Éomer fiercely. "Your trickery will not avail you this time, old man. My sword may make sure of that."  
  
Malcolm, quick as lightning, leaned over and gripped his friend's arm. "Hold your hand, Éomer," he said quietly. "We shall see what Gandalf wants done with the snake."  
  
Saruman's cold eyes glittered. "And you, young imposter, who are you? A clever trick of Gandalf's, sent to make me fearful for my life? Wizard? Warrior? Hah! The two of you will certainly have Sauron shaking in his boots!"  
  
"There's an image," muttered Pippin. "He'd have a job getting them to stay on, wouldn't he?"  
  
Malcolm smothered a snicker; Saruman looked even more outraged, gripping the edge of the railing with white knuckles. "I say, Théoden King," said the former White Wizard, "shall we have peace and friendship? It is ours to command"---with a dark glare at Éomer and Malcolm---"and no one else's."  
  
"We will have peace," said Théoden thickly. "Yes, we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished---and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us! You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts."  
  
"Gibbets and crows!" snarled Saruman, beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. "Dotard! You give me brag and abuse; I do not need you! So be it. Go back to your stinking huts." He turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf---are we not members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-Earth? Our friendship would profit us both alike. Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world."  
  
Gandalf merely laughed, looking for an instant at Malcolm with a smile in his eyes. "Saruman, Saruman!" he said, still laughing, "You should have been a king's jester! I fear we are beyond your comprehension, both me and our young brother here. But listen, Saruman, for the last time! Will you not come down? I give you a last chance to turn to new things, perhaps."  
  
A shadow passed over Saruman's face; then it went deathly white. For a second he hesitated, and no one breathed. Then he spoke, and his voice was shrill and cold. "Keep your offers of second chances, old friend," he said, and drew back into the tower. "And young wizard, try not to drop your staff the first time you use it!" he added sarcastically.  
  
"Come back, Saruman!" cried Gandalf, and to the great surprise of everyone watching Saruman turned again, and as if dragged against his will he came slowly back to the iron rail, leaning on it, breathing hard. His face was lined and shrunken. His hand clutched his heavy black staff (idly, Malcolm wondered why it was black, since Saruman had been the White Wizard) like a claw.  
  
"You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council," said the wizard sternly, yet there was a hint of regret in his voice. "Saruman, your staff is broken." There was a crack, and the staff split asunder in Saruman's hand, and the head of it fell down at Gandalf's feet. With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away. At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above. It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, and passing close to Gandalf's head, it smote the stair near Shadowfax's feet. The ball was unharmed; it rolled on down the steps, a globe of crystal, dark, but glowing with a heart of fire. As it bounded away into the water, Pippin ran after it and picked it up.  
  
Malcolm started; in amazement, he gazed at the thing clutched in the hobbit's hands. A palantir, the thing which had brought him here. He had thought them lost, but of course that would be folly, wouldn't it? Gandalf had spoken of one before, and Sauron of course had one...  
  
He thought that should he need to, he could bring himself back to his own world, but he had not considered how Hoshi would return. He may yet need this palantir. Gandalf beckoned hastily to Pippin. "I'll take that, Pippin my lad," he said, and quickly wrapped it in his cloak. He spurred on Shadowfax and nodded meaningfully at Malcolm, who quickly followed.  
  
"I did not know there were any that still existed," said Malcolm softly, once they were some distance from the others.  
  
"Then through a palantir you came?" said Gandalf, and Malcolm nodded. Carefully he handed the younger wizard the cloth-wrapped bundle. "I do not know how such a thing would be possible, but clearly it is."  
  
"This is not the same one," said Malcolm, looking at it for an instant before throwing the wrapping over it once more. Even in that short moment he felt a presence watching from within---he had no urge to look longer. "And the hands... I remember the hands. Burning in red flame, withered and terrible... I should not like to see them again, but for that I may need that one to bring Hoshi back." He returned the bundle to Gandalf and took up the reins of his horse. "If I can bring Hoshi back."  
  
The others had caught up, and they began to ride away from the wizard's tower, chatting amongst themselves. Gandalf did not notice, and neither did Malcolm, that Pippin was silent, and his eyes followed the bundled palantir sitting snugly in Gandalf's lap.  
  
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Sorry about the wait... stuff decided to all happen at once. Hopefully I will get the next one up soon too. 


	12. The Palantir

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: To answer Jen 717's question, yes, some of these paragraphs are straight from the book. I have been including them (throughout the whole story, I might add) for a few different reasons: one, it is a crossover, and thus I am putting the characters from Star Trek directly into Tolkien's story, hence his wording; two, he is a wonderful author, so I think it enriches the story to use the original author's wording. It's a bit of homage. After all, I'm only adding facets to someone else's work... the story is not mine.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Twelve: The Palantir  
  
"Strange powers have our enemies, and strange weaknesses!" said Théoden. "But it has long been said: oft evil will shall evil mar."  
        J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Malcolm lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Men lay all around him, snoring deeply, caught fast in the depths of sleep. Dark dreams had come and gone in their minds, and most were in the deep, visionless sleep of the completely exhausted. Scenes of the battle replayed themselves in his mind; an imagined tang of blood even reached his nostrils, and he turned onto his side, shuddering. He may have been a warrior in both his past lives, but never had he relished the senseless slaughter and violence of battle.  
  
He heard the boards creak, and peered into the darkness. Probably just someone getting up to relieve himself... but there were whispers then. "What are you doing?" hissed a low voice. "Pippin!"  
  
A shadowy figure crept across the floor; lit by the moonlight, Malcolm recognized the young hobbit. What was the fool doing? Pippin knelt before Gandalf and quickly swapped the cloth-wrapped palantir for a heavy water jug sitting near the door. "I just want to look at it," he whispered, and Malcolm immediately sprang from his bed.  
  
"You little fool, put it down!" he cried, but he was too late; Pippin's eyes widened in horror and his mouth opened in a silent scream. The stone erupted in ghostly flames and the hobbit writhed in agony, trying to shake loose his hands. Malcolm swept him up into his arms just as Aragorn and Legolas burst into the room. Aragorn met Malcolm's eyes for a split second before he snatched the palantir from Pippin's hands and began to convulse himself before it dropped from his grip and rolled away into the corner. Gandalf leapt past them and threw a blanket over it, then turned around, livid with anger.  
  
The hobbit was a dead weight in Malcolm's arms; carefully, he laid the limp Pippin onto a pallet on the floor. The men in the room murmured softly, woken from their heavy slumber, as Merry rushed to his friend's side.  
  
"Fool of a Took!" roared Gandalf, but the hobbit stared into space, completely unresponsive. Malcolm drew aside, pulling Merry with him, and the older wizard dropped to his knees before the hobbit. He took Pippin's hand and bent over his face, listening for his breath; then he laid his hands on his brow. The hobbit shuddered and finally blinked.  
  
"Look at me," said Gandalf, and it was not a voice that Pippin could disobey.  
  
"Gandalf, forgive me!" he said, voice high and frightened. He trembled, and Malcolm gripped Merry tightly as the other hobbit tried to go to his friend once more.  
  
"Look at me," repeated Gandalf. "What did you see, and what did you say?"  
  
Pippin shut his eyes and shivered, but said nothing for a moment. "A tree," he whispered finally. "A white tree, in a courtyard of stone; it was dead, Gandalf. I saw a dark sky, and tall battlements, and tiny stars. It seemed very far away and long ago, yet hard and clear. The city was burning."  
  
"Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw?"  
  
"I saw---I saw---I saw Him!" cried Pippin. "I could hear his voice in my head."  
  
A sick dread settled in the pit of Malcolm's stomach.  
  
"And what did you tell him?" urged Gandalf.  
  
"He asked my name... I did not answer," said Pippin. "He hurt me..."  
  
"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" cried Gandalf, gripping the hobbit's shoulders tightly.  
  
Pippin stared up at him, looking baffled. "Nothing," he said softly. "I could not speak, Gandalf!" Gandalf let him go and sank back on his heels; Merry finally managed to wriggle out of Malcolm's grasp and went quickly to his friend, murmuring in concern under his breath. Malcolm followed and laid a hand on Pippin's forehead, and almost at once the little hobbit's eyes drooped.  
  
"Put him to bed," said Malcolm to Merry, and the hobbit nodded, gripping his friend's hand tightly. "If he wakes with nightmares, find me or Gandalf." The old wizard took the palantir in his hands and went out into the night. The men began to settle down again, and Merry drew a blanket over the already-sleeping Pippin and lay next to him with a sigh. Gimli, who had also woken from his slumber, nodded to them and sat with the hobbits, talking softly to Merry.  
  
Legolas met his eyes, and between them they lifted the still-shaky Aragorn; then they followed Gandalf outside. "Are you all right, Aragorn?" asked the old wizard as they came up to him.  
  
"I will be fine in a moment," said Aragorn as he leaned against the battlements, breathing in the fresh night air. "I saw in the stone Sauron, and though I do not know if he knew me, still he lashed out at me for the instant in which I held it."  
  
"I must ask you to take the stone, Aragorn," said Gandalf. "There is one who may claim it by right, for this assuredly is the palantir of Orthanc from the treasury of Elendil, set here by the Kings of Gondor."  
  
Aragorn's jaw worked. "Pippin must not know where it is bestowed," he said.  
  
"That is no answer," replied Malcolm softly. "Are you Elendil's heir or not, Aragorn?"  
  
The man held the younger wizard in his gaze for a long moment, and then reached for the covered bundle in Gandalf's hands. Gandalf bowed as he presented it. "Receive it, lord," he said, "in earnest of other things that shall be given back. If I may counsel you in the use of your own, do not use it---yet! Be wary!"  
  
"When have I been hasty or unwary?" said Aragorn, looking down at the bundle in his hands. "At last we know the link between Isengard and Mordor, and how it worked. Much is explained."  
  
"Much indeed," said Gandalf. He too stared at the cloth-wrapped bundle, eyes deep and brooding. "I had considered whether to probe the stone myself to find its uses. Had I done so, I should have been revealed to him myself. I am not ready for such a trial, if indeed I shall ever be so. But even if I found the power to withdraw myself, it would be disastrous for him to see me, yet—until the hour comes when secrecy will avail no longer."  
  
"That hour is now come," said Aragorn, gripping the palantir tightly with white-knuckled hands.  
  
"Not yet," said Malcolm. "Sauron will be looking for a hobbit. He will be drawn here. We must not draw his attention too swiftly, not until we are ready for him." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aragorn's yawn and a slight sway in the man's shoulders.  
  
Gandalf saw it as well, and said quietly, "We have time enough tonight. Go to sleep, Aragorn. We will talk and decide what must be done and tell you our ideas in the morning."  
  
For a moment, Malcolm thought the weary Ranger would argue, but he slumped and let Legolas lead him inside. In darkness the two wizards sat, silent as stones under the cloud-streaked starlight. At long length Gandalf sighed, a drawn-out, tired breath that seemed most out of character. Malcolm met his eyes and thought how very tired the old wizard looked.  
  
"We will ride for Minas Tirith on the morrow," said Gandalf quietly. "We must get Pippin away from this place and draw the Enemy's eye from this place."  
  
"He already watches Minas Tirith," said Malcolm.  
  
"For more reasons than you know," said Gandalf. "Denethor, I think, knows more than he is telling us. The Eye is far too mindful of Minas Tirith, for all that it is the last great country of Man in Middle-Earth."  
  
"Not the last," said Malcolm vehemently. "I shall see to it that the future I saw shall not come to pass."  
  
"And perhaps it will in any case," said Gandalf kindly, putting a hand on the younger wizard's shoulder. "It may be that we save Middle-earth now only for it to fall later. But we must, at some point, know when our task is done and when it must be left to someone else."  
  
"That is a very hard lesson to learn, Mithrandir," whispered Malcolm. Such had been some problems in his old life, on Enterprise. What future did the Suliban hope to arrange? What future for Daniels, and for all the millions and millions of people who came between their time and that faraway future to which they were nothing more than a distant past?  
  
"Time drifts onward, my young friend," said Gandalf, looking up at the stars overhead. "We are given time on this earth to do what we must. Each living thing has a purpose, even if it is no more or less noble than the brewing of ales and the planting of gardens. A simple person may do a great thing, and a great person may do a simple thing, and sometimes it is called upon us to do things which may seem beyond our reach." He smiled gently, meeting Malcolm's eyes. "But we are not called to do everything. No one could do that. There is a time for us to do our part, and there is a time for us to pass into the hollows of memory as well. It is enough to have lived."  
  
Malcolm broke their shared gaze and stared up at the stars above, wishing that he were once more hurtling through them with warp engines pushing him far faster than the speed of light, the streaks of sidereal color bright in the windows of Enterprise. Elowë wished for the foam-capped waves crashing on the white shores, dappled with golden light from the sun rising over the eastern horizon, the water blue-green and lovely as far as the eye could see. And they understood a little more of why they were alike, why they were now one where once had been two, for both sought the lonely places where only a true explorer's eyes could appreciate the beauty in their surroundings.  
  
He met Gandalf's eyes once more, and felt a silent understanding in their blue depths.  
  
"Shall I come with you to Minas Tirith?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I will need your help," said Gandalf. "The city, I fear, will be in sorry state, for rumors of Denethor's madness have reached my ears. They will need brave captains to lead them. But, of course, if you would rather stay with the Rohan, they will need aid as well."  
  
"Aragorn will be able to lead them well enough," said Malcolm. "Better than I could, at least, for Théoden does not understand me or like me. He will not trust to my counsel."  
  
"He is a kindly old man," said Gandalf, "but he does not trust what he does not understand, and he cannot think how the two of you could have come under his roof. You are very strange to him, no matter what you may say otherwise. Éowyn and Éomer are less cynical and both possess their uncle's kind heart, but in addition both are sympathetic to the misfortune of others. They saw you nearly dead and witnessed Hoshi's struggle to learn their ways. They could not help but feel that you needed their pity."  
  
"You see much, "lorin," said Malcolm. "Still, I think I shall ride with you to Minas Tirith and when I can, I shall set out for Mordor."  
  
"For Hoshi?"  
  
"I cannot leave her at the mercy of the Enemy," he whispered. "She is under his spell. And I fear what he needs from her mind. As the Ents said, Saruman has a mind of metal. So does Sauron, else why put his power into a thing made of gold? Our ship is metal, worked in possibilities he has never dreamed of. I dare not think what he could do with such ideas."  
  
"I do not know what your ship can do, but I feel the same threat. Something deeper lies at work here." Gandalf turned toward the east, where a faint tinge of pink showed around the ever-present clouds. "The night has passed, tórdilthen, and the morn approaches. Ready yourself. We leave before noon."  
  
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Did I say I hoped this chapter would get up soon? I deeply apologize for the long wait. I don't have my own computer hooked up to the Internet right now, so I have to wait for time to use my dad's. And may I say, I do NOT like this new QuickEdit thing. Why don't asterisks show up? 


	13. The White City

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 13: The White City  
  
The Darkness has begun. There will be no dawn.  
        J.R.R Tolkien  
  
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"According to this map thing, that Black Tower should be somewhere right around here," said Trip, squinting down at the ancient fragment of parchment, now safely enclosed between two pieces of clear plastic so as not to damage it. The shuttle whizzed over kilometers of swamp below, stagnant and reeking and stretching out to the horizon as far as the eye could see.  
  
"Over the mountains, Travis," said Archer, stretching taller to see the landscape outside. "There's a funny squared-off mountain range and it should be somewhere in the middle of that."  
  
"Aye, sir," said Travis, and obediently put on a little more speed. He went through the mountains rather than over them, dodging sharp peaks and outcroppings with such closeness that Archer rather wished he had taken the helm himself. Better than being smashed to bits on some lonely God-forsaken mountains in the middle of nowhere. Trip, studying the map intently, appeared not to notice their close brushes with oblivion, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief when at last the peaks gave way to foothills.  
  
"Scanners aren't picking up anything remotely resembling a tower," said Travis. Archer took the map from Trip and checked it against the topographical scan on the shuttlepod's sensor readout.  
  
"Set a course for this area," said Archer. "There's no architecture showing, but there's a lot of loose rock all piled up there. It might have been some kind of tower at one point."  
  
Travis set the shuttlepod down by the pile of rocks, and all three of them hopped out onto the desolate landscape. It was a vast wasteland of volcanic rock, with nary a plant to be seen among the destruction. Wind, with a faint smell of sulfur, whistled past them, ruffling hair and uniforms and bringing water to the corners of their eyes. Foul-smelling vapors issued forth from deep cracks in the black rock.  
  
Archer trotted forward over the hardened lava, holding one hand over his mouth and tripping on the loose stones that lay everywhere around them. They had landed at the side of an immense crater with rubble scattered up and down the sides and concentrated in a large pile at the bottom. He slid down the side, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him, and tumbled headlong into a pile of rubbish. "Travis! Bring that scanner down here!" he cried, leaping up from the rubble with a chunk of rock clutched in his hands.  
  
"This isn't just chunks of lava," said Archer as the other two officers slid down the side of the crater. "This was made. Look at it! It's carved!"  
  
"It's all over the place," said Trip, wiping dust from his eyes. He wandered through the ruins, kicking at stray pieces of glassy black stone, and suddenly stopped with a shout of amazement.  
  
"What is it, Trip?" shouted Archer as the commander ducked out of sight. He beckoned to Travis and they dashed forward, slipping on the uneven ground. Tucker popped back up unexpectedly as they reached him, startling Travis, who skidded to a halt and fell flat onto the ground.  
  
"Sorry, Travis," said Trip, helping him up with one hand. He grinned and held up a long flat piece of metal with the other. "Look, Captain, I got a sword! Somebody was here a long time ago. I bet we found that Black Tower!"  
  
"There's a helmet, too," Travis pointed out, rubbing his shoulder. "I fell on it." Trip picked it up and jumped back in disgust when a stained brown skull tumbled out of the slightly crushed metal helm.  
  
"I don't envy this guy," said Trip, looking derisively at the odd-shaped skull. Archer, swallowing his revulsion, picked it up and examined it from all angles.  
  
"It's not human," he said.  
  
"We're not on Earth, sir," said Travis. "If it was human, there would be a lot more questions than simply where Malcolm and Hoshi got to."  
  
"Thank you, Ensign," muttered Archer. He flipped open the communicator and hailed the ship. "T'Pol, I want you to scan this area down to the last detail. See if you can find anything that might help us with the Lieutenant and the Ensign's disappearance."  
  
"Aye, Captain," said the Vulcan smoothly, and cut off the communication.  
  
"What are we gonna do, Jon?" asked Trip.  
  
"We, Trip," said Archer, "are going to go over this area with a fine-tooth comb. No stone unturned. Malcolm said this was where he would be, at some point, and damned if I'm going to miss him."  
  
"Aye, captain," said Trip and Travis, and they set off across the barren landscape, looking for any sign of the two missing officers.  
  
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"Minas Tirith!" cried Gandalf as they crested a great green hill. "City of kings!"  
  
Pippin, tucked before him on Shadowfax, stirred and blinked owlishly at the great white walls rising before them. Malcolm gazed in awe at the monumental city, cut by a great spur of rock through the middle reaching thousands and thousands of feet into the air. Shadowfax plunged forward, leaving Malcolm's weary gelding in the dust. With a sigh he spurred the horse on, hoping this haste would not kill the poor creature. Shadowfax ran like the wind, and though Gandalf reined him in, sometimes the old man forgot to pace the great white horse.  
  
To his left, as he rode doggedly after Shadowfax, lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East; on his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a might valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. Where the mountains came to their end (the White Mountains, said his memory) came to their end he saw the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day.  
  
Gandalf slowed before he reached the great iron gates, and Malcolm finally managed to catch up with them as they rode through the city, spiraling ever upwards to the Citadel. He gazed at the people's faces as they trotted quickly through the streets. How very solemn they all were! Darker than the people of Rohan, they were, and dressed finer as well, but all in blacks and greys. Shining white banners hung throughout the streets with the silver tree of Gondor emblazoned on them, glittering in the sunlight. The city seemed fine to Malcolm's eyes, but he noticed that many of the fine houses they passed seemed uninhabited and worn, as if no denizen had dwelt there for many years.  
  
They dismounted when they reached the final level, Pippin staring in dismay at the gnarled white tree beside the white-paved court of the fountain. "It's the tree," he said. "Gandalf! It is the tree that I saw!"  
  
"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor," said Gandalf, not pausing in his furious stride. "The Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not a king. He is a steward only, a caretaker of the throne."  
  
"I know," said Pippin, looking slightly upset.  
  
Malcolm shrugged and gave the hobbit a brief smile as they both hurried after Gandalf. For one who appeared so old, he walked surprisingly fast.  
  
At the doors of the great hall Gandalf paused and looked down at Pippin as the hobbit caught up with him. "Be careful of your words, Peregrin Took!" said the old wizard. "This is no time for hobbit pertness. Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And don't mention Frodo. And say nothing of Aragorn either."  
  
He made as if to go in, and then turned back once more. "In fact, it's better you don't speak at all."  
  
Malcolm patted the hobbit's shoulder as Pippin stared after Gandalf, cheeks flushed. "I don't think he'll ever forgive me," he said quietly to Malcolm as they went through the doors.  
  
"I think that he is worried about much more difficult things," replied Malcolm. "You were foolish, but you will not be so foolish again."  
  
"I would not look into that stone again for all the pipeweed in the Shire," said Pippin gravely. Malcolm choked back a snort as they entered the great hall of the Steward. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of marble pillars that upheld the roof. No hangings nor storied webs, as decorated Théoden's more welcoming hall, nor any things of woven stuff or wood, were to be seen in that long solemn hall, but between the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone.  
  
At the very end, an old man sat in a stone chair at the foot of the dais. He did not look up until they were close to him. "Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor!" said Gandalf. His staff rang against the floor, the thump echoing through the sterile hall. "I am come with tidings and counsel in this dark hour."  
  
"Dark indeed is the hour," said Denethor, his eyes glittering angrily at Gandalf, "and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir. Perhaps you come to explain this." He held up what he had been clutching in his lap: a wild-ox horn bound with silver, cloven in two. Malcolm knew not what it was, but the expressions on both Pippin's and Gandalf's faces told him they certainly knew. "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?"  
  
Ah, so it must be Boromir's, that horn. He kept silent; he knew Boromir only by the stories of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, and though he knew how the Steward's heir had died, it was not his place to tell. Gandalf took a deep breath, looking rather as if he did not know what to say.  
  
To their great surprise, Pippin stepped forward. "He died to save us, my kinsman Meriadoc and me, and though he fell and failed, my gratitude is none the less," said the little hobbit, kneeling before the Steward's throne. "He fell defending us from many foes."  
  
"Pippin!" said Gandalf warningly.  
  
"I offer you my service, such as it is," said Pippin, ignoring Gandalf, "in payment of this debt."  
  
For a very long, tense moment, no one in the room spoke. Malcolm studied Denethor's reaction and found, to his great surprise, that a faint hint of amusement twinkled about the lord's eyes. He did not smile, though, and finally Gandalf prodded Pippin with his staff, commanding rudely, "Get up."  
  
Denethor lowered his eyes once more. "My lord," said Gandalf, "there will be a time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming! The enemy is on your doorstep! As steward you are charged with the defense of the city! Where are Gondor's armies?"  
  
Still Denethor did not reply. Malcolm gripped his own staff a little tighter.  
  
"You still have friends," Gandalf continued. "You are not alone in this fight! Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons!"  
  
"You think you are wise, Mithrandir!" growled Denethor. "Yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor! And with your right, you seek to supplant me! I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. Oh yes, word has reached my ears of this Aragorn son of Arathorn, and I tell you now: I will not bow to this ranger from the North, the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."  
  
"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king!" said Malcolm loudly, stepping up beside Gandalf.  
  
"And who are you to give me such commands!" cried the Steward.  
  
"He is right to say it," Gandalf said quietly, his voice low and dangerous.  
  
"The rule of Gondor is mine and no other's!" Denethor spat, rising from his throne. Gandalf gave him one fiery look and turned on his heel, Pippin hurrying after him with a quick look over his shoulder. Malcolm met the Steward's eyes a moment longer.  
  
"I ride in the shadow of the doers of great deeds, my Lord and Steward of Gondor," said Malcolm softly, shoulders straight and head held high. "I watch a world not my own as it tumbles through dark and dangerous times, and yet I am part of this world, as much so as you or any of your kin."  
  
"You are nothing," growled Denethor. "You think I have not seen you as well? The arrival of a wizard is no small thing to overlook. News of your coming will have reached Sauron's ears as well and he will attack all the harsher for it. You will bring about this world's ruin! I call for aid, and I am delivered you?"  
  
"How have you seen me?" said Malcolm. "You say you have seen Aragorn and me as well, and know that I am nothing? How? How do you know this?"  
  
Denethor's face contorted in anger. "I will speak no more to you, upstart wizard, you who brings doom in your footsteps. Leave my chamber now!"  
  
"You bring your own doom," snapped Malcolm, and swept out of the hall, anger trembling within his breast. Gondor was in danger from not one but two fronts; he saw this quite clearly. One was the armies of Sauron, surely not long in coming.  
  
And the second front? The madness of Gondor's own leader.  
  
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Hoshi drifted between dreams and drowsy wakefulness, and could hardly distinguish between the two. Darkness, always darkness; it was all around her now, always, yet sometimes it was cut by flames from a great lidless eye like a cat's, burning in a sky full of black clouds. She did not like these visions; whether they were dream or reality, and when she was caught in such an instant she wept in fear and cried out for someone, anyone, to take her away from this terrible place.  
  
At such times she heard the voice of Annatar, her invisible protector, soothing her and drawing her back into darkness until she awoke on Enterprise, safe in her cabin. She went about her daily routines, attending shifts on the bridge and eating in the mess hall, working out in the gym and meeting Lieutenant Reed for target practice. Annatar stayed with her always, guiding her when the dreams of flame and darkness threatened to take over her thoughts and mind, and asking her questions about what she was doing. He was kind and insightful, and though she sometimes wondered why he stayed with her after he had done what she wanted, bringing her and Malcolm home, she dared not ask in case he think her ungrateful.  
  
She remembered very little of her time in that strange other world, other than her nightmares, and never questioned how she had returned (for she did not remember that either) until the dreams came again.  
  
But always Annatar caught her, put her on her feet when her mind threatened to tumble away from her, back into the spiral of the foreign place where she was friendless and alone, where the Eye looked at her night and day.  
  
She was really very grateful for Annatar; what would she do without him?  
  
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Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! 


	14. Fathers and Sons

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 14: Fathers and Sons  
  
And the memory of Boromir, and the dreadful change that the lure of the Ring had worked in him, was very present to is mind, when he looked at Faramir and listened to his voice: unlike they were, and yet also much akin.  
        -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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The candle burned low, nearly gone but for a lump of wax and the barest length of wick left. Malcolm gave it a derisive look as it sputtered, trying desperately not to go out, and stood up. The stiffness in his shoulders let him know just how long he had been sitting at the cramped table, surrounded by manuscripts and crumbling parchments. Maps, legends, books; none really had the answer he desired, only snippets and snatches of any sort of useful information.  
  
And why should they, really, he thought to himself, picking up the candle and beginning the long trek back up the stairs. No one in his right mind would try to break into Mordor. It was madness, certain death. He wondered how Gandalf had meant to do it, especially with eight others to look after.  
  
He passed out of the archives and went out into the city streets, somewhat surprised to find how dark it had grown. The winding road was quiet and lonely, with only a few hurried passersby striding over the cobblestones. He nodded to some as he passed, meeting their eyes, but did not stop to speak to anyone. Malcolm had already heard rumors flying about the streets, wondering what he was and where he had come from, but he did not bother to let them know the truth.  
  
A cry from above, and an immense peal of thunder, broke the silence; a greenish flash of light flared in the sky, but did not fade away as proper lightning should. Malcolm gazed up at the beacon in horror, knowing what lay in that direction: Minas Morgul, the lair of the Witch-king of Angmar. Sauron's forces must be on the move. They would arrive at Minas Tirith in but a few days.  
  
He redoubled his pace and went quickly to the rooms the Steward's servants had shown them to earlier, hoping to find Gandalf there. Both wizard and hobbit were in the room, standing on the balcony staring out at the terrible spire of light.  
  
"Malcolm!" said Pippin, turning around at the sound of his footsteps. "Did you find what you wanted in the archives?"  
  
"Not really," Malcolm murmured, his eyes still on the green glare.  
  
"It's Minas Morgul," said the hobbit, his small face crumpled with worry. "We will be under siege in a few days when that army gets here."  
  
"Yes," said Malcolm. "Quite probably less than a few days."  
  
"What will happen?" asked Pippin.  
  
Malcolm met Gandalf's eyes over the hobbit's curly head, and found no clue as to how he should answer Pippin's question. He settled finally on the truth, and said simply, "I don't know."  
  
"What I know," Gandalf said, coming away from the balcony and gently guiding Pippin towards his bed, "is that we are all tired, and there is a task to be done ere morning comes. Go to bed, Peregrin Took, and do not worry yourself with armies right now. They will be here soon enough, but they are not here yet."  
  
With a last worried glance over his shoulder at the glowing stream of light in the sky, the hobbit obeyed and went off to bed. Gandalf looked at it as well and shut the curtains before going to bed himself. Malcolm stayed up a while longer, fearing that he would not be able to sleep, but to his surprise he drifted off almost immediately and slept, remembering neither dream nor nightmare, until Gandalf roused him with a shake the next morning.  
  
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Hoshi dreamed of that fateful away mission in vivid detail one night. She saw the trek over the lonely plains. She remembered her surprise when Malcolm had offered to accompany her; she remembered her pleasure at that same moment. Annatar spoke in her dreams, as he spoke in every part of her life---:Where did you go, my dear? What happened when you went down to the planet?:  
  
"We found a box," Hoshi replied in the dream, and she could see a shadow outline standing next to her. The dream-Reed did not notice; he kept right on walking and chattering pleasantly. "It was right across that ridge, there."  
  
And indeed, the lieutenant was off, traipsing across the stream.  
  
"Oh, I don't want to be here again," said Hoshi. "Please, may I wake up now?"  
  
:I want to see this for myself,: said Annatar, his shadow-figure gliding forward to where Malcolm was scrabbling at the dirt, calling for her help. She went forward without wanting to, acting out the sequence of her memory while her inner self screamed to stop, leave it alone, don't do this.  
  
They found the stone and tumbled away from that world, and at last everything dissolved away. Hoshi met Reed's eyes as she sighed in relief, glad the dream was over, and wondered why he cried out to her that she was in danger.  
  
"Hoshi, listen to me, he is lying to you! Don't do what he says! Fight him!" cried the dream-Malcolm as he dissolved into oblivion.  
  
Fight who? Hoshi wondered, but he was gone and the darkness overtook her. She struggled to wake up, wanting this nightmare to end now, but though she felt as though she awoke, all she saw were the black walls of the dark place. Fire burned in her mind, the fire of the great Eye, and she screamed in terror, fighting against the bonds that held her down. Hulking orcs moved around her, their eyes deep and malevolent as they looked at her. One came and spoke in the language Éowyn had taught her, though she barely remembered enough to know what he said. "Awake, pretty thing?" growled the foul beast, and forced a cup of liquid to her lips.  
  
As it went down it burned her tongue and throat. The orc faded away and was replaced, slowly, by her cabin on Enterprise, and she gripped at the blankets in relief, still feeling the awful burn of the dream-potion in her throat. Her fingers were numb; she could barely feel the soft nub of the blanket between them.  
  
:Interesting,: said Annatar in her mind.  
  
"What is?" asked Hoshi.  
  
:You were called,: he replied. :No matter. You had best ready yourself. Your duty shift begins in half an hour.:  
  
She pulled herself out of bed, throwing back the covers and getting dressed quickly. Her mind was not on what she was doing, however. For the first time, she wondered if this was, after all, Enterprise, and if perhaps what she believed to be a dream was actually the reality.  
  
Fight him, the dream-Malcolm said. Perhaps she should try.  
  
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Gandalf and Pippin went off to do the elder wizard's mysterious errand, and Malcolm betook himself back to the archives. As the pale morning brightened, he chanced to look up at the White Tower, and saw there a curious pale light shining forth from the windows.  
  
How very odd, thought Malcolm, and went up the steps to the Citadel, nodding to the guards as he passed. He could think of nothing in Middle- earth that would make such a light, though he admitted the possibility of it being something he had never encountered. Still, he was curious.  
  
As he went into the tower, the light from above dimmed. He heard on the steps a clatter of footsteps, and drew back into the shadows as the Lord of the City passed by, muttering ominously to himself. "Gandalf steals the city from me, he bewitches the minds of my people, he lights the beacons when Rohan shall never heed my call. He and that dratted young upstart will steal the city from my grasp! It shall fall to the Enemy!"  
  
"Dratted young upstart, indeed," muttered Malcolm, waiting until the door below opened and closed again with a slam. He slipped forth from the corner and hurried up the stairs to the top room of the tower, whence he had seen the mysterious pale light.  
  
From the windows of the tower room he beheld an awesome vista, stretching for miles on all sides. On the mountaintop, far above even the high tower, a fire blazed on the peak. The beacons were lit; Pippin had then succeeded. Aragorn must turn Théoden's eyes to the East; Gondor called and Rohan must answer if the city were to be saved. Far out on the Pelennor Fields he saw Osgiliath. Smoke rose from it, and small dark figures rushed about among the buildings. They appeared as tiny ants from this height, and Malcolm could not tell what they were doing.  
  
He turned away from the window and surveyed the room itself. The walls, below the windows, were lined with shelves, and on the shelves were many books bound in brown and grey leather. A table, covered itself in books and scrolls, sat in the center of the room, and in the very center of the table a cloth-wrapped hump arose from the mounds of paper.  
  
Malcolm stood very still, his breath caught in his throat, for he thought he recognized the shape of that bundle. Girding his courage, he gripped the cloth and chanced to look under it, dreading what he might see.  
  
He had indeed recognized it. A palantir, one of the Seven Stones, lay beneath the humble cloth. Even now it shone with that same pale glow, and as he looked he saw within its depths Hoshi bound upon a table, her face white and drawn. "No," he whispered softly. "It cannot be." At the back of his mind a warning bell sounded, but he ignored it and looked again.  
  
She lay as one dead, though he could see her chest rising and falling. Her lips opened in a soundless cry, and he longed to ride at once to Mordor and take back what Sauron had stolen. A great urge filled his body until he felt he must run from the tower and flee the city.  
  
You mustn't! cried the voice in the back of his mind. I must, Malcolm said, though his feet were carrying him away from the palantir and the vision of Hoshi. Dimly he remembered Pippin at last, and with a great effort threw himself away from the stone. He stumbled down the steps in a daze, not regaining his wits until he came once more into the sunlight.  
  
Through the streets he went, now angry that he had been so taken in, and hardly noticed the uproar of the guards on the walls until he was nearly at the bottom. A hand gripped his shoulder and Gandalf's deep voice cried, "Get to the walls! Drive away the Nazgûl! They attack the forces retreating from Osgiliath!" The White Wizard, seated on Shadowfax, gave him a hard knock in the direction of the ramparts and rode away through the gate. Malcolm looked up and saw the Nazgûl; he rushed up the steps to the wall.  
  
Gandalf rode out to meet them, a lone figure in white on the powerful Shadowfax, his staff brilliant with power. Malcolm took his own and did the same, hearing the screech of the Black Riders with a grim satisfaction as they met pure light, a thing deadly to their kind. The refugees from Osgiliath thundered through the gates a moment later, Gandalf at their head.  
  
Malcolm reached Gandalf at the same time as one of the horsemen from Osgiliath, a tall and stern man with grey eyes and brown hair. Every movement of the man's body bespoke weariness in form and spirit, but he did not pause as he addressed Gandalf with a clear voice. "Mithrandir!" he cried. "Mithrandir! They broke our defenses; they've taken the bridge in the Westbank. Batallions of orcs are crossing the river."  
  
So that was what he had seen from the tower; Osgiliath was overrun with orcs. A sore blow this, thought Malcolm, for it gives them a foothold and a strong base to attack Minas Tirith.  
  
"Faramir?" said Gandalf, swinging Shadowfax around so that he faced what Malcolm now knew to be the young Captain of Gondor. Pippin, seated before him, quailed beneath the man's gaze. Faramir's eyes held shock and confusion.  
  
"This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path," said Gandalf.  
  
"No," said Faramir, still gazing at Pippin in wonder.  
  
"You've seen Frodo and Sam!" cried the hobbit. Faramir gave him a speechless nod.  
  
"Where? When?" Gandalf asked, leaning closer to the Captain.  
  
"In Ithilien, not two days ago," said Faramir. "Gandalf, they are taking the road to the Morgul Vale."  
  
The look on Gandalf's face echoed the shock Malcolm felt in his heart. "And then the pass of Cirith Ungol?" said the wizard urgently. Faramir nodded again.  
  
"What does that mean? What's wrong?" demanded Pippin.  
  
"Faramir, tell me everything," Gandalf said.  
  
"I must go to my father with the news of Osgiliath," said Faramir, though he looked none too eager to complete this task.  
  
"On the way then," said Gandalf. "Come, ride slowly." They set off up through the circles, the horses plodding slowly enough that Malcolm could follow on foot. Introductions were quickly made. Malcolm wanted to tell Gandalf what he had discovered in the tower, but no opportunity presented itself as Faramir told them of Frodo, Sam, and a curious guide they had acquired called Gollum. He wanted also to ask of this place called Cirith Ungol and how it was that Frodo would pass through it into Mordor, but again no opportunity presented itself.  
  
At the Citadel Faramir, Gandalf, and Pippin dismounted. "I am to be sworn into service," said the hobbit, and excused himself, running in the direction of their lodgings. Gandalf and Malcolm continued with Faramir into the hall, where a servant was sent to summon Denethor.  
  
"I do not relish this meeting," said Faramir quietly as they waited. "My father is ill disposed toward me as it is. This news will not help that state of affairs." His voice held a curious bitterness, one that Malcolm knew well, as it was the tone in which he usually spoke of his own father.  
  
"Boromir's death has affected him greatly," said Gandalf. "He feels guilty about sending him off to his death, when of course Boromir went willingly for the good of Gondor."  
  
"I would have gone," said Faramir in a low voice. "But he would not allow me to do so."  
  
"And if Boromir had been with Frodo two days ago," said Gandalf, "he would have taken the Ring from him and sent us all to our doom."  
  
"I risk death because I did not bring my father the Ring," whispered Faramir.  
  
"You did right," said Malcolm, wishing that he could say something to ease the man's pain. He himself had long since given up on finding any approval from his father, and though he did not look for it any longer, he still felt a curious sense of emptiness when he thought of all that would never pass between them. "You have shown your quality, Faramir, and though your father may never say it, know that the rest of Middle-earth shall thank you for it."  
  
Faramir's look told him he had struck close to the mark. "Such a wording you choose," said Faramir. "My father has spoken those same words, but in a much more demeaning fashion. My quality! He believes my quality to be no better than the orcs we strive to defeat."  
  
"He may never voice his approval," said Malcolm. "My own father is the same. I have come to realize that if one is to find happiness in life, one must accept that fact and move on. It will hurt. It always hurts, and I cannot tell you that it will lessen any. All I can tell you is that it can be lived with."  
  
He did not expect that his words would have much effect on Faramir, and indeed the young Captain merely looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "My mind would believe what you say," he said, "but my heart breaks to hear such words."  
  
Malcolm looked away. "So also does mine," he said softly as the heralds announced the lord's approach.  
  
"You wizards, leave this place," said Denethor imperiously as he strode into the room, followed by Pippin dressed in his Guard's uniform. "We have matters of state to speak of that do not concern you."  
  
Gandalf, with a last concerned look at Faramir, went quietly from the room. "Please," said Malcolm, staying a moment longer, "bear in mind my words."  
  
"I will," replied Faramir, and turned away, watching as his father crossed the hall and sat heavily in his throne. Malcolm doubted that as he went out of the hall and joined Gandalf in the Court of the Fountain. Had he heard the same words, he would not have heeded them either; in this situation, there were no right words, only wrong ones.  
  
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I don't think I've ever updated so much so quickly. Expect another update within the next week, though probably not tomorrow. 


	15. The Siege Begins

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 15: The Siege Begins  
  
[T]he old wisdom and beauty brought out of the West remained long in the realm of the sons of Elendil the Fair, and they linger there still. Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed.  
        -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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The wizards sat alone in a silent alley, the sun streaming down on their backs. Neither spoke; the face of Faramir, resigned to his death in a fool's errand to retake Osgiliath, was foremost in their minds.  
  
From the distant plain they heard the sounds of the orcs chanting battle- cries and the distant hisses of arrows zooming ahead. Malcolm wished he could close his ears and his heart---or else wring the neck of the mad Steward who now sat in his great hall, alone but for his attendants, safe among the statues of the leaders of the past.  
  
"I have sent too many lives to their deaths," said Gandalf presently. Malcolm straightened from where he had been leaning his head on his hands and looked at the older wizard, unnerved to hear such an admission.  
  
"You will tell me that it is not my place to be guilty," said the White Wizard sadly, meeting his younger counterpart's eyes. "And I know this is true, that I work to save more lives than will be lost. Still I cannot help but weep for those I knew best. Faramir used to help me when I looked for accounts of the Ring among the papers in the archives. And with his aid I found the answers I sought, of course."  
  
He did not speak of Frodo, but Malcolm knew the old wizard thought of the young hobbit now, and wondered if he too would be among the numbers of the dead, Sam Gamgee along with him. "What is Cirith Ungol?" he asked bluntly. Gandalf had failed earlier to answer either his or Pippin's inquiries on the subject, saying he would explain later. Malcolm suspected it had something to do with Gandalf's despair.  
  
"It is the lair of Shelob," said Gandalf bitterly. "I hope that perhaps Gollum will know a way through it where they will not have to face the great spider-queen. It is a way into Mordor, true, but one of the more dangerous roads to take."  
  
"It is a secret way in?"  
  
"There are two sets of stairs, a straight one and a curved one, and then a passage that leads to Torech Ungol, the lair of Shelob. On the other side is a fortress built by Gondor at the beginning of this age to watch over the lands of Mordor. It too is called Cirith Ungol, and it is presently guarded by Sauron's forces," replied Gandalf. "It is a dangerous road."  
  
"It is indeed," said Malcolm, thinking on it.  
  
Gandalf saw through his casual inquiry and said, "I would not have you take this road to rescue your friend, tórdilthen."  
  
"What way did you plan to take when your Fellowship set out, then?"  
  
Gandalf's brow furrowed. "In truth, Malcolm, I did not know. I thought of it little, preferring to wait until we reached the walls of Mordor to find a way inside." He shook his head. "I thought of wild scheme after wild scheme to take us in; I even considered having the Eagles fly us over the mountains to the Cracks of Doom, but the Nâzgul would of course have stopped us long before we reached Mount Doom."  
  
"Too open," said Malcolm. "Too exposed. There's a better chance creeping about on the ground, where some cover might be found from the Eye."  
  
"If indeed they make it that far," said Gandalf, standing and pacing.  
  
"Could you look and see them, if you had a palantir?" asked Malcolm.  
  
Gandalf gave him a curious glare. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Denethor has one in his tower."  
  
"I might be able to, but to look into Sauron's land would attract his attention. He would see Sam and Frodo and send his servants to intercept them at once, and all would be lost. I have a little power to see him now anyway, without the palantir," said Gandalf. "Has the Steward been making use of it, do you think? Long has one been kept in the White Tower, but no Steward has before dared to make use of it, unless Denethor does it now."  
  
"I do not doubt it," said Malcolm grimly. "He said he had seen me, and he spoke of knowing that Aragorn rode with Théoden. How else could he have known? I do not think Gondor's spy network reaches quite that far, especially in this time of war."  
  
"True," said Gandalf, looking troubled. "I do not like what this bodes."  
  
From the fields far below a distant thunder rumbled and did not cease. Malcolm and Gandalf shared a worried glance and hurried to the walls. Below them a formation of orcs marched out from Osgiliath, trolls beating the rhythm of the march on giant drums. All along the walls of the city circles below them, Malcolm saw the people of Minas Tirith watching in horror as death marched to their city gates.  
  
Both wizards stared down at the masses of troops pouring from the ruined Osigiliath, all neatly in formation as they strode onto the Pelennor. "We must go," said Malcolm finally, wrenching himself away from the terrible sight. "Denethor will do nothing to rally the men. It is up to us."  
  
Gondor's defenses, though Denethor had let them fall into disuse, were nevertheless easily repaired. Rubble lay in wait by the catapults, ready to be flung down onto the numberless orcs below; arrows by the thousands were stocked and ready for the archers; swords were sharpened and armor donned. Malcolm found it uncomfortably similar to the battle of Helm's Deep. Although they had more men, and trained soldiers at that from all the reaches of the kingdom, still the orc army outnumbered them five to one.  
  
To Malcolm's relief, he found he and Gandalf need not command the entire army themselves; Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth had been garrisoned at Minas Tirith by Faramir's discreet request shortly before the wizards' arrival, and was quite capable of commanding his own sizeable forces as well as offering counsel to them both. None of the three spoke of Denethor and his inability to wage this war to the men; they merely went about their preparations as if acting upon the lord's own orders, and none save them knew the difference.  
  
At dusk a lone horse galloped across the gap between the walls of Minas Tirith and the armies of Sauron, dragging behind it a forlorn knight in bloodstained armor. Malcolm saw from the fourth level of the city and met them at the tunnel under the great central outcrop of rock as the gate- guards, Prince Imrahil at their head, carried Faramir to the High Court where Denethor, attended by Pippin and some of the other Guards of the Citadel, anxiously waited.  
  
"Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds," the Prince said imperiously to Denethor. The Steward spared him not a glance as he ran to his son, his old eyes wild and grief-stricken.  
  
"Faramir!" he moaned, kneeling next to the pallet. "Say not that he has fallen!"  
  
Malcolm's jaw clenched; now the Lord should feel remorse at his useless orders that sent an entire company of men to their deaths? Willingly had Faramir gone to fulfill an order he knew to be madness, guilt and bitterness heaped upon his shoulders by the very same man who now knelt over him, weeping.  
  
"They were outnumbered," said Imrahil, his voice cracking like a whip. "No others survived, my Lord," and the Steward's title stuck in the Prince's mouth as though he had tasted something sour. Denethor appeared not to have heard him; indeed, Malcolm thought the Lord believed his son to be dead already.  
  
"My sons are spent," cried Denethor, lurching upward from Faramir's still form. "My line has ended!"  
  
Pippin dashed forward and cried to the Steward, "He's alive!"  
  
"The House of Stewards has failed!" wailed Denethor, completely ignoring the hobbit.  
  
"He needs medicine, my Lord!" cried Pippin after him in vain.  
  
"My line has ended," said Denethor, staggering to the outer wall of the Court of the Fountain. He saw finally the black mass of orcs on the fields below and stared down in complete and utter shock. "Rohan has deserted us... Théoden has betrayed me!" A shot from an orkish catapult came flying towards the city, and all felt the rumble as it smashed into the houses on the third circle.  
  
"Abandon your posts! Flee, flee for your lives!" bellowed Denethor, and his voice carried over the city below. Men looked up, frightened and confused, as Sauron's siege began in earnest. Something went past Malcolm like a fluttering moth, and the next moment Gandalf was at Denethor's side, with none of them really seeing how he had gotten there. The wizard dealt the Steward a swift and terrible blow, leaving him unconscious on the grass.  
  
"Prepare for battle!" he cried over the walls, voice booming far louder than Denethor's had done. He turned and looked at Imrahil, Malcolm, and Pippin, still grouped around Faramir's unconscious body. "Rally your forces," he said to Imrahil, and the Prince nodded and hurried away. "You two, get Faramir and Denethor into the Tower and find healers to help Faramir. Malcolm, join me on the wall when you are finished." Then Gandalf strode away as quickly as he had come in the direction of the garrisons on the wall-tops.  
  
Malcolm beckoned to one of the servants still standing nearby and took one end of the pallet himself. "Go get the healers," he told Pippin, and the hobbit dutifully went running. On the second level of the Tower was a bedroom, and into this bed they laid Faramir, carefully pulling away the heavy armor and chain mail covering the man's chest. He flinched as a wave of blood poured from the wound when they pulled away the clotting along with Faramir's undershirt, but it did not flow for more than a second.  
  
The other servants came in with Denethor and laid him on a couch standing against the wall. The old Steward seemed to be coming to, his eyelids fluttering as he moaned softly in his sleep. Gandalf, of course, had not hit him hard enough to do any lasting damage, and more the pity, Malcolm thought to himself.  
  
The servants murmured among themselves, looking at the lord and his son, none of them doing anything at all useful. "Find the healers!" Malcolm shouted at them, rightfully annoyed. "Or else find some bandages and clean, hot water and get it up here." He gritted his teeth, watching the young captain's chest rise and fall ever so slightly. The skin around the arrow punctures (Malcolm thanked his stars that someone had already taken out the arrows; he didn't think he could deal with that) already showed streaks of red flaming out from the wounds themselves.  
  
A long drag across the Pelennor Fields couldn't have helped the wounds much, Malcolm though angrily. He didn't really know what else to do except try and clean the injuries, but luckily Pippin, followed closely by a harried-looking young man with a large rucksack, burst through the door at that moment. The man stopped short at the sight of Faramir.  
  
"Can you treat him?" Malcolm asked. He looked quickly at Denethor and met the old Steward's grey eyes, gazing in confusion around the room. The healer nodded and started pulling bandages from his pack. Denethor struggled up from the couch and began to lurch towards his son's bed.  
  
"What are you doing? You mock death!" cried the Steward. Malcolm leapt forward and dragged Denethor away from the shocked healer and out of the room. Pippin followed them, pulling the door shut behind them.  
  
"He's not dead!" cried the hobbit.  
  
"It is only a matter of time," cried Denethor, struggling against Malcolm's grip. For an old man he was surprisingly strong; it didn't help that he held a fair advantage over Malcolm in size and weight. He broke free and flung the wizard against the wall, and dashed up the stairs to the top room before Malcolm could pull himself up. A scraping sound echoed through the stairwell, and when Pippin tried to pull the door open Malcolm realized that Denethor had locked himself in. Faintly he heard the Steward's voice, moaning and wailing, but he could not make out the words.  
  
"He's not dead yet!" bellowed Malcolm through the wooden door, and the noise from within stopped.  
  
"My line ends!" cried Denethor from the other side, though the door remained closed.  
  
"Hardly," snapped Malcolm. "You have a duty to your city, my Lord. Will you fulfill it or not?"  
  
"You wizards have stolen my city from under me!"  
  
"You are a Steward! You knew you must return the city to her rightful king when he arrived!"  
  
The lock slid back and the door flew open. "Rightful king," spat Denethor, grabbing the front of Malcolm's shirt. "That scruffy Ranger is no rightful king. The House of Steward should have taken the throne long ago. That bloodline grows ever weaker as the years pass."  
  
"You think your blood is superior?" Malcolm said coolly, staring Denethor in the eye. "The palantir has driven you mad. You are weak, my Lord. Aragorn could use it to his advantage, but you, you have abandoned your city and your people under its thrall. Sauron has taken hold of your simple mind! He sows discord from within your own walls. And you, pitiful fool, you let him."  
  
"Perhaps you are right," said the Steward, face inches away from Malcolm's. Malcolm wondered absurdly if Denethor would have dared this with Gandalf. "I called for aid... and I brought nothing to help. In my tower late one night, darkness filled my soul; despair filled my mind; and in a frenzy I sought out something that might turn the tides of this war."  
  
Malcolm stiffened. "What?" he said in a low whisper.  
  
"I dreamed of a great machine which flew through the stars," growled Denethor, his eyes glittering with madness. "A machine that carried powerful weapons that could defeat Sauron forever. I called to it; I begged it to come and aid us." He met Malcolm's glare and tightened his grip. "Little did I know that I would receive not weapons but a pair of useless weaklings!"  
  
"You brought us here?" growled Malcolm, ripping his shirt from Denethor's grasp and driving the man back into the tower room, ignoring Pippin's astonished gasp. "You? Long have I wondered why I was here, and now I find it is at the mere behest of a madman? My friend is prisoner of Sauron! In her mind he can see things far beyond the abilities of any technology on Middle-earth! You have doomed your entire world!"  
  
"You think I wanted two mongrel crew from that great machine?" snarled Denethor. "It was pure chance that you appeared! A fleeting wish, never meant to be fulfilled, and yet it was, much to the dismay of all! Get out of my tower!"  
  
"You tear your son's heart into pieces, you abandon your city in its time of need," said Malcolm. "And you make this mistake, and then do nothing to rectify it." He stepped backwards, towards the tower door, repulsed by the instability in the Steward's glare. He put a hand on Pippin's shoulder, leading him from the room, and closed the door behind them.  
  
"I must get to the walls," said Malcolm as they reached the outer door. "We've been called out to fight."  
  
He strode away from the hobbit without looking back, his longer legs quickly outdistancing Pippin. Vaguely in the back of his mind he registered the sound of Pippin calling after him in concern, but he was too furious to stop. So he and Hoshi were trapped here merely because a crazy old man had called them from the future! Somehow he had thought before this that there was a reason, some deeper purpose for their presence here... and now, he knew, there was nothing. He wanted to wring the old man's neck. To put them through this for no reason at all...  
  
How did Denethor manage it? Malcolm didn't know if anything like this had ever happened before---and how had it happened now? The palantir were seeing stones. The palantir were only supposed to be useful for seeing the present! It was not out of the realm of possibility to see the future in one, he supposed, but to call someone back through the palantir from the future to the past? How was it possible?  
  
He stopped dead in the streets just as a catapulted boulder smashed into the walls above him, raining plaster and bits of rubble down onto the surrounding street. Oblivious to the dust in the air and the close brush he'd just had, Malcolm stared out at the massive army on the fields below. If Denethor's mind was powerful enough---or insane enough---to pull two people through time on a whim, what then could Sauron bring back? What had he seen in Hoshi's mind? Phase cannons? Torpedoes? Orcs armed with phase pistols and plasma rifles did not present a very appealing picture.  
  
Whatever Sauron wanted, it meant nothing good for Middle-earth, of that Malcolm was certain. He broke into a run, heading towards the lowest circles. Gandalf must know about this, immediately. Regardless of the way they had arrived, they were here now, and they presented a terrible danger to Middle-earth.  
  
And as he ran, he thought of how they had come, and wondered why he should have seen a pair of burning hands in the stone...  
  
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	16. The Shadow Darkens

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter 16: The Shadow Darkens  
  
I would have things as they were in all the days of my life . . . and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Hoshi worked at her station on Enterprise's bridge, trying very hard to look busy while she secretly watched the rest of the crew out of the corners of her eyes. T'Pol was at the science station, Mayweather at the helm, and Reed at tactical—a completely normal scenario, totally innocuous and mundane.  
  
Annatar had not spoken to her much at all today, and she wondered if his presence in her mind was really gone or if he was simply watching in silence. She hoped for the former; it was very difficult to try and determine if this was reality when a voice kept intruding to distract her. And if he read her thoughts, what was to prevent him from erasing them from her mind?  
  
Over the last few days she'd had the same nightmares of waking up in a dark, foreign dungeon, held captive by murderous creatures whose species, she now remembered, was orc. As the nightmares went on, she strove to control her reaction upon waking, until at last she could lay still with her eyes cracked open just a tiny bit and listen carefully to the talk of the orcs around her, slowly regaining her command of the language.  
  
They were terrible gossips, she had discovered, speaking at length about everything from the war (so Gondor was under attack by an army commanded by someone called the Witch King) to the Ring (no one knew where it was but the Nâzgul, whatever they were, were searching) to the curious happenings at a place called Cirith Ungol far to the east (a whole garrison had ended up dead, and some very curious clothing had been sent to the Black Tower). All this convinced Hoshi that Annatar was probably busy with the myriad goings-on and had less time to spare for browsing the mind of one lost Starfleet linguist.  
  
She looked down at the screens below her fingers and let out a sigh, knowing that the language she was now trying to decipher was one they'd encountered in the very first year of the Enterprise mission. It seemed gibberish to her now, but she remembered deciphering it once before... and the situation had been completely different. Annatar's ruse was getting sloppy—and she had begun to piece together the clues and discover who he really was.  
  
It wasn't all that hard, really, because the orcs wore armor and helmets with painted red eyes upon them. She remembered Éowyn's tales of Sauron, the Great Eye, and thought it perfectly believable that his powers would extend to taking over someone's mind. She was not at all sure that only he had been digging through her thoughts, because she remembered vaguely that someone else had spoken to her at first. It was all very hazy, though—she remembered most of what had happened to her until arriving at Helm's Deep, and after that, her memories were clouded.  
  
She looked across the bridge to where Malcolm Reed was sitting at the tactical station, his brow furrowed in concentration, and wondered what had happened to him. The real Malcolm Reed was probably still out there in Middle-earth, fighting in a war that didn't concern him. He would throw away his life doing that, she thought, because he was the kind of man who stood up for people even if he didn't know them or had no reason to be in the fight. Damned honor!  
  
The fake Reed looked up at her and smiled. A rather odd thing to do, Hoshi thought, considering she had let her face slip into an angry scowl. Fake- Reed opened his mouth to speak and then stopped as Hoshi's shift replacement tapped her on the shoulder. She gratefully gave up the post and hurried off the bridge to her quarters.  
  
:Aren't you going to eat something?: asked Annatar, back once more.  
  
"I'm really not hungry," said Hoshi, and she wasn't. Over the last few days she'd noticed she was never hungry—more proof that this place wasn't real—and had disdained to eat anything at all. Annatar had not noticed. "I'm pretty tired... I just want to get to bed."  
  
:I think, my dear,: said Annatar, :that you have proved your usefulness.:  
  
She stopped, halfway through inputting the lock code to her quarters, and looked around in terror as the walls began to dissolve away into nothing. :I have seen all that you know about this ship,: he said, :and it will be enough to carry out my plan.:  
  
The ship faded away and all around her everything went black. With a cry Hoshi opened her eyes and realized she was back in the dark, musty room. Orcs stood around her, carefully unchaining her arms and legs, and pushed her off the table. Her legs, weak from disuse, toppled beneath her. She scrabbled at the edge of the table, trying to keep herself upright, but the orcs gripped her around the waist and slung her over a broad shoulder.  
  
:You will look into the future,: said Annatar. :You will call to your ship, and bring me what I want from your time. That fool Steward did it by accident, wresting power from me as I sought to muddle his thoughts and give him false hopes that would be cruelly crushed, but this time we shall do it with purpose in mind, and get it right.:  
  
Hoshi struggled against the orc's powerful grasp, gasping with the effort. He dealt her a heavy blow across the forehead, and she went limp as stars popped in front of her eyes. "Keep wriggling, worm, and I will break your legs," growled the orc. "You won't need them to do the Eye's bidding."  
  
Tears dripped down Hoshi's face as they went down a long, long stair, deep into the bowels of the earth below the tower. Down here it was deserted and empty; she saw no other living things besides a few rats scurrying across the steps. It seemed ages that they descended into the earth, finally reaching the very bottom of the stair. A heavy black door, studded with rusted iron nails, lay in front of them. The orc set her down and unlocked it with a spiky key.  
  
"Get in," he ordered harshly, and Hoshi numbly crawled into the room. She sat just on the other side of the door, staring at the orc as he smiled and then shut her inside. For a moment it was entirely dark in the room, and she shuddered, hoping desperately that no rats had gotten in here with her.  
  
After a time she realized that the darkness was not as complete as she had thought. A faint glow permeated the room; warily, she turned around and found it to be coming from a round black stone on a pedestal in the very center of the otherwise empty room. Her breath caught in her throat in a jerky sob as she recognized it as the thing that had whisked them away from their future and brought them here.  
  
:No, not this one,: said Annatar—Sauron—in her mind. :But one like this. A palantir, my dear. One of the great seeing stones of ages past.: His words were mocking, angry; she whimpered and tried not to look at the thing.  
  
The pale white glow dimmed and changed to a malevolent, burning red. "I won't call for anyone," she said, crawling backwards away from the stone. "I won't!"  
  
:I do not need a person,: he said. :I need this.:  
  
In her mind she saw the mass of circuitry that made up the computer core on Enterprise, a meter high and half a meter wide, glittering as electricity ran through it. She'd only seen it once, while trying to find Commander Tucker on some errand of the Captain's, but she knew how powerful it was.  
  
"Why?" she gasped, a strong compulsion to get up and go to the palantir running through her body.  
  
:If I have this I will not need the Ring,: said Sauron, sounding rather smug. :I can use it to hold my power... I can take the power from the Ring itself and then it will not matter at all if that contemptible Halfling manages to destroy it!:  
  
Hoshi shuddered and backed up right against the wall, shivering as cold stone met her shoulders. Another shudder wracked her body, and she closed her eyes. She would not look in the palantir, no matter how hard he tried to make her. Her head throbbed; she could feel Sauron trying to take over once more, but this time she knew what was happening and she fought his intrusion.  
  
Whoever was destroying the Ring, she hoped they would get there soon, because she doubted she could hold out very long against Sauron's onslaught. Her fingers trembled, and she jammed them into the stone floor to stop the quivers, hoping against hope that something would happen to distract the Eye's attention and give her a rest.  
  
She struggled for an endless time, not knowing how much longer she could hold out and yet not giving up, and then somewhere, something answered her prayer, and she was left in darkness, alone with the palantir and her tears of relief.  
  
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On the walls of the White City, Malcolm sagged in relief as the horns of the Rohirrim echoed across the Pelennor Fields. On the horizon a massive force of riders filled the hilltops; the orcs below turned away from the city and prepared to face the swords of the Horse-lords. He thanked the Valar that Rohan had come at last. He was weary and sore from days of fighting an enemy that never seemed to sleep and seemed countless in number. It did not help that the Nâzgul swooped overhead, picking them off a few men at a time and dropping those unlucky souls to their deaths from high above the city.  
  
He had been on edge all these days, for as Gandalf had pointed out to him, there was no way he would be able to ride for Mordor with a host of orcs on their doorstep, no matter how urgent the matter of Hoshi might be. Grudgingly he had admitted the truth in this, and now he fought, every orc he killed a reminder of what he must get past to do what he wished. Every minute of every hour Malcolm expected to see Enterprise come swooping down from the sky, phase cannons firing great streaks of death into the city and her defenders. In the few hours of sleep he had managed to get, his nightmares were filled with the same vision, and finally he had tired of waking in a cold sweat and given up sleeping altogether.  
  
The Rohirrim charged, but Malcolm could not watch, for at that moment the Prince of Dol Amroth sounded a retreat to the next level up. With a roar Malcolm echoed the order and he and his men dashed for the gate under the great rock spire that split the city in half. At the gate all was chaos; dimly he glimpsed Gandalf and Pippin on a porch just past the spire, both looking quite tired and to his surprise somewhat singed, but he could not stop to talk as he hurried his men into position farther up the road. They heard the orcs beating at the gate and arranged themselves for an ambush.  
  
Twenty minutes they stole for rest while the orcs battered down the gate, striving to regain breath and bind up smaller wounds as the relentless pounding continued. They heard wood splinter on the last hit; the next one would break through the door.  
  
But it never came. A sudden flurry of orc-squeals erupted on the other side, and then there was only silence. Malcolm stood up in confusion. "Where are they?" he called. Imrahil, standing closer to the gate, peeked through a rift in the wood of the door and gave a whoop of joy most unbefitting of a dignified prince.  
  
"I don't believe it!" he cried, and tugged at the doorjamb until it opened, swatting away the alarmed soldiers who tried to stop him. The gates swung open on a very strange sight. Every orc that had been pursuing them now lay dead. As they surveyed the silent street in amazement, Malcolm realized that the noise of battle from the fields below had ceased. He vaulted onto the porch of one of the houses and stood on the roof, gazing out at the former battlefield, now silent except for the voices of survivors calling out for wounded. A horde of greenish, smoky figures swept through the remaining enemies, taking them down more quickly than any other warrior Malcolm had ever seen.  
  
Gandalf and Pippin clambered onto the roof beside him, the hobbit's eyes round with wonder. "Ah," said Gandalf, settling his robes about him, "Aragorn succeeded."  
  
"Doing what?" cried Pippin. "What are those things, Gandalf?"  
  
"Murderers and traitors, if I'm not mistaken," said Gandalf happily. "They have fulfilled their oath to the King." He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "This has been a day that will live long in song and story."  
  
Pippin and Malcolm exchanged a glance as the old wizard looked out across the fields. "I have no idea either," muttered the hobbit under his breath, and Malcolm had to laugh at how well Pippin read his expression.  
  
"We should go find our friends," said Gandalf. "First, though..." Malcolm suddenly noticed how very tired the old wizard looked as Gandalf turned and met his eyes. Carefully he untied a parcel hanging from his belt, something heavy and rounded.  
  
"Your burning hands have been explained," said Gandalf slowly, handing him the cloth-wrapped bundle. Malcolm felt the weight of it and opened his mouth in protest, then realized what Gandalf had said and shut it again with a snap. Carefully he opened the bundle, touching the tip of one finger to the smooth black surface, and saw a pair of withered hands grasping desperately through licking tongues of red flame. He drew back immediately and threw the cloth back over it.  
  
"The Steward of the City is dead," said Pippin gravely, looking up at him. "He died not an hour ago. He clutched this to him as he burned on a pyre of his own making."  
  
Malcolm looked at them and closed his eyes, clutching the palantir so tightly his knuckles went white. "So passes Denethor, lord of Ecthelion," murmured Gandalf.  
  
Pippin patted his hand, and wizard and hobbit climbed off of the roof, leaving Malcolm to gaze out over the battlefield and beyond, to the fires of Mordor themselves.  
  
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It may seem that we are nearing the end, but don't worry, there's a good bit of stuff to go yet! 


	17. The Land of Shadow

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
Author's Note: I agree, Phaser Lady, Denethor's death was much more dramatic in the movie, but it didn't involve the palantir. And since that is an important part of the story here, I decided not to mess with it.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Seventeen: The Land of Shadow  
  
"Where there's a whip there's a will, my slugs. Hold up! I'd give you a nice freshener now, only you'll get as much lash as your skins will carry when you come in late to your camp. Do you good. Don't you know we're at war?"  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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"Luck go with you, Elowë," murmured Gandalf in the most ancient tongue of wizards, bowing his head and clasping Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm returned the gesture, gazing into the old wizard's blue eyes.  
  
"I will come back, Olórin," said Malcolm. "I will return with Hoshi, and we'll make fireworks for the celebration." With a sad smile Gandalf let him go, handing him a satchel with the palantír of the White Tower tucked firmly inside.  
  
"We ride for the Black Gate in a few hours," said Gandalf. "I must attend to a few errands before then." His eyes were suspiciously bright as Malcolm mounted a grey-spotted gelding loaned from Denethor's—or rather, Faramir's—stables. Not as fine as the mounts of Rohan, but a good horse nonetheless. With a nod to the White Wizard, he spurred the horse on with a flick of the reins, and galloped through the Gate into the morning gloom.  
  
It was far harder to leave Minas Tirith and his friends than he had believed it would be; doubts plagued his mind and urged him to turn back, to stay to his former course and aid Aragorn in reclaiming the kingship. Only for a little while had he seen the man yesterday, during a Council called to determine what course the war should now take.  
  
Malcolm smiled grimly as he remembered the talk from that council. "There's still hope for Frodo," said Aragorn. "He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that. We must at all costs keep his Eye from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be."  
  
"Surely," the lord Imrahil had said, "this is the greatest jest in all the history of Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard of the army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the impenetrable gate of the Black Land! If the Dark Lord knows so much as you say, Mithrandir, will he not rather smile than fear, and with his little finger crush us like a fly that tries to sting him?"  
  
"No, he will try to trap the fly and take the sting," said Gandalf in reply. "It is not for ourselves that we fight, but for Frodo, that Sauron's Eye may be fixed upon us!"  
  
And it was a diversion that helped Malcolm himself, for he did not doubt that the Eye was paying a significant amount of attention to Aragorn's mobilized forces. The Eye would not be so quick to see him—but then again, he did not really care—it was part of his plan.  
  
He rode all day and well into the night, though the transition was difficult to notice as he grew closer to Mordor. The horse grew more and more nervous as they neared the lair of the Witch-king, Minas Morgul. The Witch-king... If he had not known of Éowyn's great feat on the field of battle the day before, killing the Lord of the Nâzgul, Malcolm would not have dared what he did now.  
  
He had been terribly proud of her to hear of the deed, and sorrowed to hear of the ailment of the Black Shadow that lay upon her as a result. He had not heard if she had lived. He hoped she had. But there would be time enough to celebrate later; he could not afford to let his mind wander now.  
  
Keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword, he rode past the entrance to Cirith Ungol, the Pass of the Spider, and straight down the Morgul-road, completely ignoring the orcs which hooted and hollered and chased after him as he crossed the bridge which led to Minas Morgul.  
  
They tried to ambush him from the sides of the long road, but he lit up the road with a flare of sun-bright wizard's-fire, sending them scurrying away in pain, and by then it was too dark for them to see him when his light faded. Their voices, high-pitched and angry, echoed around the steep cliffs of the Morgul-road, but the echoes distorted their words and the sounds of the horse's footfalls, so that they could not find him.  
  
It was a good twenty miles to the other end of the road, and he did not reach it until the grey morning light had begun to slowly illuminate the cliffs around him. A company of orcs was waiting for him on the other side, looking quite angry to see him. The three Uruk-hai at the forefront seemed particularly put out.  
  
"Well, well, well," said the biggest of them, coming forward, tapping his crooked sword against the palm of his other hand. "What have we here?"  
  
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Malcolm, hopping down from the horse's back. "And how are we today?"  
  
The Uruk-hai stared. "You're either very brave or very stupid," he growled. "What do you think you're doing, riding in here like that?"  
  
"Well, my lads," said Malcolm, summoning up all the British charm he could muster, and wondering how hard Madeline would laugh to see this, "I thought I'd pop in at the old Barad-dûr, you know, and see how this chap Sauron is doing with his war and whatnot." He cringed mentally, although a flicker of amusement went through him to see the utter bemusement on the faces of the Uruks. They exchanged a confused glance.  
  
"That's good for you, because that's where you're going," said the biggest one. "To the Tower and I don't think you'll be so delighted with Sauron's hospitality as you seem to think."  
  
He shrugged and got back on the horse, which was decidedly not happy to be so close to a company of orcs, although they did seem rather small to Malcolm's eyes. "Shall we frolic off then, lads?"  
  
Stop saying frolic, for goodness' sake, he told himself firmly as the bewildered orcs set off north towards Udûn along the Morgai road. He cursed inwardly as he realized they intended to go the long way around, but kept up a foolish smile as he rode along just ahead of them. This would add a few days to his journey, but, he mused, looking out over the smoking plains, it was probably easier than trying to cross that vaporous, dead plain.  
  
They moved quickly, but not quietly; Malcolm had a headache after only a few hours from the incessant chattering, arguing, and name-calling that echoed back and forth among the company. It would be easy enough to ride ahead, he thought, but both he and the horse were too weary for such a gallop. He'd ridden for a day and a night now without rest, and chances of camp seemed rather slim in the near future.  
  
So he kept the horse to a walk and when they stopped at a way-station with a little spring, he let the horse drink deeply before the orcs could get at the water. He didn't know much about horses on Earth, but looking at his tired mount, he thought that they were probably not this hardy. Scrounging around he found some scraggly bushes and lopped off a few branches for the horse to nibble on the leaves.  
  
The orcs lounged around the spring, their talk growing louder (Malcolm hadn't thought that possible). He himself found a smooth boulder and lounged against it, bringing his hood up over his face so it looked like he was asleep.  
  
He didn't have long to wait. The three Uruk-Hai came nosing around not two minutes after he had lain down. The horse, kneeling down and by now asleep, did not move as they sniffed the area.  
  
"Good eating for the boys here," said the smallest of the Uruk-hai (still a good deal larger than Malcolm himself). "The wizard doesn't need it. I bet he's got something nice squirreled away in these saddlebags."  
  
"It's a wizard, you fool," said the medium-sized uruk. "It'll do something horrid to you if you mess around with its things."  
  
"Still..." murmured the biggest uruk, fairly licking his lips. "It does look very tasty." He drew his sword and Malcolm launched himself off of the rock, his sword flashing out and through the big one's neck before any of them had a chance to react. His stroke didn't cut off the Uruk-hai's head, but it did enough—the uruk flopped to the ground, spraying putrid black orc- blood everywhere. The two remaining uruks stood frozen.  
  
"Now, boys," said Malcolm, wiping his sword on the dead body and giving it a kick. "I'm letting you travel with me as a favor! You get to bring me in and you get all the glory and everything from the Eye when you present me to him. And this is how you repay me." He sighed and sheathed his sword. With one finger wagging he went right up to the medium-sized uruk—well, now the biggest, he supposed—and looked the confused creature right in the eye.  
  
"You've got the right idea," he said, throwing aside all the pomp and cheer and assuming instead a deadly Legolas-like calm. "Next time I won't just kill you. I did him a kindness... once more and I won't be so merciful." With a steely look at the two trembling things before him, he ran one hand down the length of his staff and gave them a tiny smile. "Now, we won't have any more disgraceful displays like that, will we?"  
  
The uruks nodded dumbly, totally cowed, and, as Malcolm slept for a few hours, they actually guarded him and the horse. When he awoke the orcs were lined up and ready to go. Feeling much refreshed, Malcolm saddled the horse and nodded to the Uruk-hai. "Shall we be off, gentlemen?" he said cheerily and kicked the horse into action.  
  
They ran all the rest of the day and into the night, marching at a quick pace. As the darkness grew complete they reached a leg of road surrounded by high walls where the rock builders of old had cut the rock sheer for many fathoms above their heads. On the other side, the road looked over the brink into a dark pit of gloom. The orcs lit torches in the dim light, and kept marching onward.  
  
Malcolm, his hood still drawn up, rode at the head and saw the two little figures crouching at the side of the road. With a sudden flash of despair he realized that they were no orcs. They were too small, and they sat wrongly; an orc did not bend like that.  
  
Their faces were hidden, and Malcolm thanked the Valar that they had at least enough sense for that. A pair of shields with the device of the Eye painted upon it leaned against their knees. This could only be Sam and Frodo, Malcolm knew. The orcs behind him would not let them pass; his heart sank and he tensed upon the horse, readying himself for what he thought he must do.  
  
But for a moment they seemed to be going past the two hobbits, and certainly none of the orcs noticed that these were not of their own kind. Malcolm let out a breath of relief and then hastily turned as he heard a loud voice cut through the noise of the rest. "Hi, you! Get up!" cried one of the slave-driver orcs, a particularly brutish one who was generous with the whip and short on mercy. "Up you get and fall in, or I'll have your numbers and report you."  
  
Malcolm could not wheel the horse without arising suspicion, and he doubted now that he could get them away from the company of orcs, not when he'd have to fight through more than half of them to reach the two hobbits. So he stayed at the front, casting back with wizard's-sight to check on them.  
  
Frodo and Sam kept up the pace, though Malcolm could feel their weariness. Such a trial would have killed a lesser being, but the hobbits kept going despite the hardship. His fingers clenched upon the reins of the horse, and he tried to slow the pace as best he could, but even at half-march the pace was nearly too much for the hobbits.  
  
On and on they went, and Malcolm felt Frodo's strength giving out. He risked a look back, but he could not pick out the two little figures among the rest of the orcs. The road gave out and began to slope down towards the plain, and Malcolm saw a chance—another company of orcs marching towards Udûn. If they kept going at their same pace, they would miss, but he kicked the horse into a faster walk. The Uruk-hai of course quickened their pace—and thus the pace of the entire company—to keep up with their valuable prisoner.  
  
At the crossroads leading to the gate chaos erupted as not two but seven companies met ways. At once there was great jostling and cursing as each troop tried to get first to the gate and the ending of their march, excluding Malcolm's orcs, who were caught in the fray though they merely wanted to pass in front of the gate on their way to the Black Tower.  
  
And in the gloom he saw two little figures crawl out of the melee and drop from the side of the road and out of sight. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. He wished he could help them on their journey, but to do anything for them would attract too much notice, and their luck lay in secrecy and stealth through Mordor.  
  
He got himself through the mass of orcs and waited on the far side for the company to catch up. "Thought you'd run off, did you?" cried the smaller of the uruks when at last they reached him. "Well, we stopped you good!"  
  
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his eyes. The horse was clearly not moving, and the two uruks had been watching him for nearly a quarter of an hour as he waited for them to sort out the trouble. "Right you did, old chap," he said sarcastically. "How shall I ever escape from the two of you fellows?" Without waiting for a reply he turned the horse around and set off once more down the road to Barad-dûr, watching with his wizard's-sight two little hobbits sleeping in the gloom of Mordor until they passed from his reckoning.  
  
He wondered if he would ever see them again or even if any of them would make it out of Mordor alive. Black smoke billowed from cracks in the ground, stinging his eyes and sending tears streaming down his cheeks. He would die here, he and Hoshi and Frodo and Sam, and the Enemy would get the Ring... it was very easy to despair here in such a dreadful place...  
  
With a shake of his head he put those thoughts out of his mind and simply rode, watching as the Black Tower grew larger in the distance, and dreading what he would find there.  
  
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Leave one! The little purple button is calling your name... 


	18. The Black Tower

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Eighteen: The Black Tower  
  
"And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done."  
        -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Archer did not like this place one bit.  
  
They'd been here for nearly an entire day, searching through the mess of rock and rubble for any sign, any sign at all, of the missing officers. It had grown dark and then light again, and still Archer searched, unwilling to give up the ghost.  
  
Even Trip, more determined than any other crew member to find his friends, had stopped looking. From his position at the very bottom of the crater, Archer could see the top of the shuttlepod, sitting at the edge of the gaping hole. He knew Trip was asleep in it now, having joined Travis in a much-needed rest slightly before dawn. Archer knew he'd be back out here in a few hours, but was rather irked at the fact that Tucker had decided to rest in the first place when there were answers to be found here.  
  
But where were these elusive answers? His eyes watered from the gases, and he stumbled slightly on a jagged rock, feeling his knees tremble ominously beneath him. Perhaps he should go rest, too, just for a little while. But he didn't want to miss whatever it was that was going to happen here at the Black Tower.  
  
With a heavy sigh he sat down—just for a moment, that would be all right—and leaned back against a boulder. To his surprise it shifted backwards and dropped just a little, and he felt a sudden draft of air against his back. Archer scrambled up and stared at the stone; there was a dark hole gaping from beneath the rock! With a sudden fit of strength he heaved the rock away, exposing enough of the hole for him to be able to see inside it. Carefully he shone a flashlight into the dark expanse, laying on his stomach on the bare rock to see better.  
  
There were _steps_...  
  
A shiver ran along his spine, because there in the darkness was an inhuman skeleton, complete with rusted armor and ragged scraps of clothing and a wicked sword clutched in one bony fist. Archer shot up and away from the hole so quickly that he nearly dropped the flashlight. He bolted and then stopped after only a few meters, suddenly feeling another chill race up his spine, because from the tunnel a voice echoed eerily into the light.  
  
"_Captain..._"  
  
It was Malcolm; he would know that dry English accent anywhere. For a moment he faltered, staring back and forth between the shuttlepod and the dark stair, and dashed back to the hole, a strange compulsion streaking through his mind. He could not simply abandon his officers; he must go and save Hoshi and Malcolm from whatever threatened them. With a wild cry he leapt for the stairs, forgetting entirely that he lacked a phase pistol or a communicator, and that he had been searching for twenty-three hours without rest. He rushed headlong down the stairs, into the darkness, without looking back.  
  
He cried out as he went, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"  
  
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How long she had been sitting there she had no idea. No orc nor any other living creature had entered the foul chamber since she had been thrown cruelly inside, with naught but the palantír to give her light. Sauron had assailed her mind four times since her imprisonment here, and each time she had fought him tooth and nail and managed to stay away from the eery glowing stone. If she touched it, all would be lost; she must not touch it and let him use her to call for Enterprise who knew how far in the future.  
  
But she was tired and hungry, and dared not sleep for long lest he sneak into her mind in her dreams. She dreaded another attack, hoping it would never come, but at the same time she wanted the invasion, wanted her defenses to fail so that she could merely die and be rid of this suffering.  
  
A jug of water was in the corner; she had rationed it carefully, fighting the urge to drink it all at once, but it would not last much longer. Then she would start to dehydrate, her tongue growing furry in her mouth and her head beginning to ache. Her mouth would be dry and her legs would not support her, and she would die in a day or two, shriveled and parched like a dried-out desert plain.  
  
With a dry sob she dropped her head to her knees, praying that this trial ended soon, one way or another. She no longer cared about Sauron, Enterprise, or the war raging somewhere else in this strange world—all she wanted was for it all to end.  
  
One way or another, it must end... and soon. She stared at the clay jug, shining brown in the dim light of the palantír.  
  
When the water jug was empty... She would not wait for a slow, lingering death. She drank the rest of the water with a gulp and threw the empty pitcher against the wall, listening with satisfaction and a sudden sense of calm. The light of the palantír dimmed at that moment, throwing her into darkness, but she was not deterred. She crept on her hands and knees in the direction of the broken pitcher, and found the shards of clay scattered about the floor. Now all that remained was to find one that would suit her purposes...  
  
One way or another, it all ended now.  
  
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Barad-dûr was even more imposing up close than from a distance. Malcolm could not help gawking upwards as they came closer and closer to the tower's dark heights. He remembered the old adage about tourists in a big city—they're the ones looking up—and understood completely. It boggled the mind; he couldn't imagine how a place as medieval as Middle-earth could have structures so architecturally impressive. How did they get the stones that high?  
  
As he grew closer yet an icy chill permeated his bones. An odd feeling it was, since the radiance of the Eye threw a red light over everything around the Tower, making the atmosphere seem like a fiery inferno. This, thought Malcolm, was what hell must be like, and it was a hundred times worse than anything Dante had ever dreamed up.  
  
He knew the Dark Lord saw him. At random moments he felt a presence nearby, and each time he had looked up to find the force of the Eye fixed completely on him. Pippin had said the Eye spoke to him in the palantír, but it remained obstinately silent to the Black Wizard.  
  
A veritable city stretched around the base of the immense tower, and Malcolm rethought his earlier evaluation. The place looked more like it had simply grown out of the glassy volcanic rock which was everywhere in Mordor. He gagged at the vapors rising from the pits around Barad-dûr and wondered how it was the orcs were not bothered by it.  
  
They crossed the bridge to the gate of the Tower, the orcs flanking him on either side. At the door they were met by a very large orc in well-tended armor with a long spear. "The prisoner is to be taken to the Eye," said the orc. The two uruks muttered between themselves nervously.  
  
"He's our prisoner!" shrilled the smaller one. "We want to bring him up!"  
  
The orc sneered at them, his eyes shining coldly through the apertures in his metal helmet. "You shall receive just reward," he told them, and at that moment the red beam of Sauron's eye swung down onto the bridge. The Tower orc stepped back beneath the gate; the company which had escorted Malcolm let out a cacophony of shrieks and screeches, and before his eyes crisped and burned into dust.  
  
"You. Come," said the Tower orc, totally unfazed by the wicked display. Malcolm followed at once, still aghast at the 'reward' Sauron bestowed on his own servants. He dismounted from the horse once he passed the gate, and took the saddlebag and slung it around his own shoulders. The animal whinnied in fright to be abandoned in such a place, but stayed where it was just in front of the gate. Malcolm doubted the orcs would leave it alone for very long, and felt a flicker of guilt at having condemned the animal to its death.  
  
The orc led him up a long spiraling stairway, so long that Malcolm thought he must pass out and fall before they ever reached their destination. After a while a red glow began to permeate the stair, and the orc stopped. "Go up now," he said, prodding Malcolm with the butt of his spear. Malcolm gulped and went on up, his legs protesting deeply with every step. His mind worried over his plan... he did not want to do it any longer and indeed, he was growing less and less sure of the validity of it.  
  
He intended to offer Sauron his allegiance as Saruman had done, but not in truth; a mere ruse to trick the Great Eye. He would find Hoshi with the trust of Sauron behind his actions, and then escape once he had her. All through Mordor it had seemed as though it would be simple, easy—now he wondered how he had ever thought such a thing.  
  
At last the stairs ended, so abruptly that Malcolm, who had been concentrating on lifting one foot and then the other, tripped and nearly fell when his foot found no stair. The red light was everywhere, and here it was as hot as the light would have one think. He could hardly breathe.  
  
:The Black Wizard,: said a voice in his mind. Malcolm's gut clenched in terror as he looked up, up, up to see the malevolent radiance of the Great Eye himself, wheeling in fiery terror over the Black Tower. He backed away, seeking escape, but the dizzying view from the edge of the Tower stopped him, and he dropped to his knees as the full force of the Eye's gaze met his own.  
  
Far below on the road to the Tower it had been unsettling. This close, the Eye's effect was devastating. He could hardly think, hardly move; deep in his mind he cursed his arrogance, thinking he might be able to dupe such a power as this. All he could do was listen to the sinuous voice snaking through his mind. Fire and smoke and shadow exploded through his mind, the pain shooting like lightning through his entire body. It took him a moment to realize the screams he heard were his own, echoing out across Mordor.  
  
Agony deepened as Sauron dug deeper and deeper, wresting control of his mind with a frightening ease. His recent activities flashed in front of his eyes. The battle at Helm's Deep, the ride to Isengard, Pippin and the palantír, the ride to Minas Tirith and Faramir's injuries, and at last the days of the journey through the Black Land. He struggled mutely but to no avail; all his secrets were open to Sauron to flip through as easily as one flips through a book.  
  
:Pitiful,: sneered Sauron, and dimly Malcolm felt his legs move beneath him. He fought to regain control of his limbs but they carried him away, back down the stairs and past the waiting guard. Down and down he went, though he himself was hardly aware of anything around him, until he came to a heavy black door, studded with iron spikes. A faint glow exuded from beneath the door; the part of Malcolm that was still conscious cried out with fear. An orc darted around him and opened it; he went in and heard a startled exclamation from its occupant and a tinkling like a shard of glass or clay dropping to the floor.  
  
That voice—it sounded familiar, but he could not place it...  
  
He could not stop now, though; he must complete his task. An unerring sense of purpose filled him, and he moved quickly to the gleaming palantír in the very center of the room. The door shut behind him as his hands wavered over the stone, part of him dumbly obeying and part of him fighting to resist.  
  
"No, Malcolm, no!" screamed the voice, and a pair of hands gripped his arms, dragging him down and away from the palantír. He stared at the face dumbly, feeling he should recognize it, but the image of the stone burned in his mind so brightly that he could not call up any memories. With a shout he pushed the stranger away and leapt for the palantír, casting out his senses to the far future and the man he found there.  
  
"_Captain..._"  
  
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More to come soon! 


	19. The Ring is Mine

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Nineteen: The Ring is Mine  
  
"I am glad that you are here with me," said Frodo. "Here at the end of all things, Sam."  
-J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Hoshi thudded against the wall with a crash, one broken (and as yet unused) piece of the water jug still clenched in her fist, the other scattered to some other corner of the room when she had dropped it. The fall stunned her, and she merely lay for a moment, desperately trying to regain her breath.  
  
This had to be some kind of trick; it couldn't be real. How was this Malcolm Reed, this blank-eyed stranger who had actually dealt her such a harsh blow?  
  
He said again, "Captain..." and Hoshi shivered, because his voice sounded the same. His hands were wreathed in flame, and in his eyes danced the ghostly reflection of the fire burning in the palantír.  
  
"Malcolm?" she said, her voice cracking. He did not move, and carefully she picked herself up from the floor and faced him across the palantír. "Malcolm, it's me, it's Hoshi, what are you doing?" she cried at him, and for all the effect her words had, she might have been speaking to a stone.  
  
She did not want to touch him, but something must be done, so she reached down and gripped his hands, intending to pull them away from the palantír. But instead she found her mind whirling, pulled away from the little room, and out into the wide world. Sauron was watching them both; she could feel his presence in her mind, and she fought him as she had done so many times before, and cast him out yet again.  
  
Her mind's eye whirled around Mordor and saw a massive army of orcs on one side of the Black Gate and another, smaller army of Men on the other. And beside her, in a manner she could not explain, she felt a hint of Malcolm's presence, like a warp trail in space. It was indeed him—she could not have explained this either, how she knew, but this was truly Malcolm. Changed, but still himself. So she followed the trail and whisked onward, watching in shock as the Black Tower blew itself to pieces in fast forward and Mordor emptied of orcs and became a truly dead land.  
  
And there, in that smoking, ruinous wasteland, she saw a shuttle touch down, and men begin to search, not stopping for hours. At last only one was left, and she heard the call as he followed it down into the deep hole in the earth.  
  
She went after him as he plunged down the stairs, calling to him, but he did not hear. He reached the black door at the very bottom and wrenched it open, and Hoshi was pulled back into her own body as he did so, and both she and Malcolm looked up at the very same instant.  
  
"Hoshi! Malcolm!" cried the captain. "Where have you been?"  
  
Malcolm looked dazed, and Archer reached out a hand to him, but it went right through his shoulder. Both men gazed at the errant hand in shock, and Hoshi stared at the both of them. "What happened to you?" whispered Archer.  
  
"We called you," said Malcolm dully.  
  
Fight it, Malcolm, fight it! Hoshi urged him silently.  
  
"And I came," said Archer, obviously bemused. He looked around the room at them and once more waved his hand through Malcolm's shoulder. "I don't know what to do, though."  
  
"Place your hands on the stone," said Malcolm.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't," Hoshi cried, leaping around to the front and placing herself between it and Archer. "Don't touch that stone. Malcolm's not himself—he's being controlled by Sauron!" The name would mean nothing to Archer, she realized as soon as she said it.  
  
Her captain looked back and forth in confusion. "Touch the stone, Captain!" yelled Malcolm suddenly. "Don't do it!" Hoshi said instantly. "It's Sauron, you can't let him have what he wants!"  
  
"And what does he want?" said Archer, eyes wide.  
  
"The ship's memory core," Malcolm said. "He will use it to hold his power and siphon it from the Ring, so even should that be destroyed he may live on. If you help him he will reward—reward—you greatly..." He shook his head. "Reward you..."  
  
"Malcolm, fight him!" cried Hoshi, and with that Sauron came swooping into her mind, redoubling his attack. Here was what she had feared—all his strength was suddenly poured into her mind, overwhelming her barriers, taking over. Fire exploded through her body and she fell to the ground, screaming uncontrollably as spasms of pain raced through her veins. Someone called her name, but she could not answer...  
  
And then suddenly he was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving in her mind a vision of a golden ring and a voice calling, "The Ring is mine!"  
  
She opened her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, and saw Malcolm's own dirty, tear-streaked face above her, his hands on her shoulders. The captain, his outline blurred, stood behind him. "He just left, Hoshi," whispered Malcolm, and she could feel him trembling. "He just left, he's gone, he heard Frodo, he'll destroy them both," he babbled, breathing heavily. "We have to get out of here now, while he's distracted." He turned and looked at the captain. "I'm sorry, sir. Go back to Enterprise."  
  
With one sweep of his hand he knocked the palantír from the pedestal, flinging it against the wall. It hit the hard stone and cracked, splitting into three large pieces and many smaller shards, and the Captain vanished, his mouth wide as if trying to say something, but they did not hear it.  
  
Malcolm lifted her up and onto his back, and she rode pig-a-back like a little child as he raced up the stairs. He pressed himself into the hollows of the wall as a pair of orcs passed, and then raced out to the front, where not one but two horses stood waiting.  
  
"How on earth?" breathed Malcolm, but did not stop to question. They heard a rumble, and felt a tremor travel up through the floor. Hoshi clambered onto one and Malcolm quickly mounted the other. Without waiting for a command, the horses took off in a flat-out gallop, taking them over the bridge and out onto the road in a matter of seconds. Hoshi risked a look back and saw the Eye writhing atop its tower as if in pain.  
  
"Malcolm, look!" she screamed over the noise of hooves. His head whipped around and they both saw the Lidless Eye burst into flames, looking back and forth in a panic. A great earthquake shook the land, but the horses did not stumble as they galloped onward. The tower began to crumble beneath the Eye, falling as if in slow-motion sideways, taking Sauron with it. He swelled and brightened—Malcolm screamed, "Look away!"  
  
She turned around just as the Eye shrank to a pinpoint of light. The shockwave came a split second later, throwing the horses to the ground and tumbling them both off. The ground shook and cracked for what seemed an eternity, and Hoshi lay trembling with her hands over her head for a long time after it finally died away, leaving a heavy silence around them.  
  
A pair of hands stroked her back, smoothed her hair, and drew her up from the ground into a strong embrace. She shook in Malcolm's arms, eyes tightly shut, as he rocked back and forth, just holding her tight. It took her a few minutes to notice that he was trembling as hard as she herself was, and finally she drew back and looked into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hoshi," he whispered in English, tears running down his cheeks. "I wanted to come sooner, I tried to come sooner, and I just couldn't."  
  
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "You came. That's what matters."  
  
"I came to save you and I think you ended up saving me," he said, his voice hoarse.  
  
"We saved each other," she told him, gripping his hand tightly. Another tremor shook the ground, and they looked back to see the great cone-shaped volcano violently erupting.  
  
"Frodo," murmured Malcolm, bowing his head. "He's the one who bore the Ring all this way. He must have succeeded at last."  
  
"He's in there?" whispered Hoshi in horror, staring at the volcano. "He'll never make it out."  
  
"I don't know," said Malcolm, another tear cutting a trail through the dirt on his face. "It doesn't look very hopeful, does it?"  
  
The horses whickered behind them, and Malcolm, with a long heavy sigh, picked himself up from the ground. His eyes rested on the mountain still, as lava and flame belched from the top in great fiery gouts of red. He held a hand out to Hoshi and looked her up and down as she stood, her legs shaky.  
  
"You need a good square meal," he said quietly. "Oh, Hoshi, I am so sorry you went through all that. I'm so sorry."  
  
"Stop apologizing," she told him pointedly as she climbed onto the back of the horse again. "It was not your fault. It's all over now. Sauron made a nice explosion, didn't he?"  
  
Malcolm, mounting the other horse, stared at her for a moment, stopping with one leg lifted to reach over the broad back. Then he laughed, throwing his head back and sinking to the ground. "Oh yes, Hoshi, he did blow up bloody well!"  
  
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They rode for the Gate, since it was much closer than Cirith Ungol. The path was treacherous, and the horses picked their way through it slowly, in no hurry now that Sauron was gone. Hoshi dozed upon her mount, letting it follow Malcolm, and as the hours passed merely looked around at the wide open spaces. Even Mordor had its own charm after being shut up in the Tower for so long. Her mind felt blessedly free, no threat from anywhere daring to intrude upon her mind. High above she saw birds flying, and her heart rejoiced that some life existed here after all.  
  
Malcolm rode ahead in silence, his shoulders slumped. She could tell he was weary, as was she, but there would be little rest until they were out of this place. Somewhere she was worried that they would not even get out, for they had little food or water, but even that would not dampen her spirits.  
  
One of the birds above wheeled lower and lower, and she realized suddenly that it was much bigger than she had originally thought. Someone was on its back, too, someone dressed in white robes and carrying a long staff. The great eagle skidded to a halt in front of them, and Malcolm slid off the horse with a glad cry.  
  
"Gandalf!" he shouted, running to the old wizard. Gandalf flung his arms around Malcolm and embraced him tightly.  
  
"So you have succeeded," he said as Hoshi approached, still mounted. He held Malcolm at arm's length and looked him up and down, and then examined Hoshi as well. "I sent Shadowfax to you right after we reached the Gate. I am glad to see he was there for you on time."  
  
"I was most grateful," said Malcolm. "And greatly surprised to see him! That cannot have been very long to run all the way from the Gate to the Tower."  
  
"He is a Mearas," said Gandalf, patting the white horse's neck. "He may do things beyond the comprehension of Men and other horses."  
  
Another tremor rocked the earth, and both Malcolm and Hoshi looked at the volcano, instantly worried. "What of Frodo?" said Malcolm. "I saw him in Mordor, you know. I passed him on the road. He did not see me, but I saw him, and Sam as well."  
  
Gandalf let out a great laugh, startling them both. "He and Sam are safe," he cried, slapping Malcolm on the back. "We found them hours ago on the slope of Mount Doom, both tired and hungry and wounded but alive. They are winging their way back to the camp at Cormallen as we speak. Indeed, they may already have arrived." He wrapped one arm around Malcolm's shoulder and gave him another squeeze. "And now we shall bring you back to Minas Tirith—unless you'd rather stay here, of course."  
  
"Oh, no, no, I think we'll take your offer," said Malcolm hastily, breaking into a weary smile.  
  
"Shadowfax will bring your good horse here safely home," said Gandalf, helping Hoshi down from the other horse. Two more Eagles had landed just beyond the first, and Gandalf led them over, helping each one up and then mounting the first one himself.  
  
Shadowfax and the other horse whinnied and began to trot as the Eagles rose from the ground, their great wings beating out large clouds of dust from the rocky soil. Hoshi gripped the feathers beneath her as the Eagle shot into the sky; somewhere, she heard Malcolm give a whoop of delight, and off they went, away from Mordor and away from the Tower, never to return again.  
  
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I'm taking a bit of liberty here. Ever notice in the movie that when they start fighting Gandalf is no longer sitting on Shadowfax? Well, I decided he had to go save Malcolm, and that's what happened to him. 


	20. Many Partings

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Twenty: Many Partings  
  
Still round the corner there may wait  
A new road or a secret gate;  
And though I oft have passed them by,  
A day will come at last when I  
Shall take the hidden paths that run  
West of the Moon, east of the Sun.  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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Malcolm woke but did not open his eyes. All around him was blessed softness and warmth, and he did not want to wake up. The bloody targeting scanners were probably out of alignment again; whoever was on duty could do well enough without him for a while...  
  
A bird chirped somewhere nearby, and his brow furrowed in confusion. How did a bird get in his quarters?  
  
He opened his eyes with a sigh, and it took him a moment to remember where he was—Minas Tirith, in the guest quarters he had shared with Gandalf and Pippin, and the sun was streaming through the window. He lay for a little longer, thinking on how he had gotten here, but it was a blur of faces and images that were too confusing to try and sort out. He'd come back, flying with the Eagles, but he'd been too exhausted to do anything but stumble to bed.  
  
His stomach growled, and he sat up slowly, looking around for anything to eat. There was nothing, but a hobbit was curled up asleep on an armchair in the corner. Not Pippin, but Merry, looking rather more battered than the last time Malcolm had seen him. Malcolm smiled and slipped out of bed. He found a set of clothes, clean and pressed, sitting on the bedside table, and put them on, feeling much refreshed. Merry stirred as he was pulling on his boots, and blinked sleepily.  
  
"And here I was to wait for you to wake, and you catch me asleep!" yawned the hobbit. "Gandalf said you'd be up and be hungry before long."  
  
"I feel I could eat a horse," said Malcolm, grinning.  
  
"Whyever would you want to eat a horse?" said Merry, his eyes wide. "Surely we can find you something better than that."  
  
"It's an expression," Malcolm told him, and splashed water from the basin on his cheeks. "Do I have to ask if you are hungry?"  
  
"Of course not," said Merry, jumping up. "Hobbits are always ready for a good table! Gandalf told me to take you to Hoshi, and there would be supper there."  
  
"Is it suppertime already?" said Malcolm, opening the door for the hobbit.  
  
"You've been asleep for a good long while," said Merry, leading him out into the streets and heading towards the Houses of Healing. "The Eagles brought you and your friend back yesterday afternoon, and it's nearly sunset now." He looked up at the wizard, squinting against the still-bright sky. "Even wizards get exhausted, eh?"  
  
"Of course," said Malcolm. "Though I think Gandalf would be the last one to admit to it!"  
  
Merry chuckled. "Éowyn has been asking about you since this morning, too," he added. "And Faramir's up and about now, too, so there will be good company."  
  
"What about the rest of your Fellowship?" asked Malcolm.  
  
"They are coming back," said Merry, "and they will be here in a few days. They must ride all the way from the Black Gate, after all. Frodo and Sam are with them too, but they will not be awake yet."  
  
He followed Merry up a set of stairs, where the hobbit knocked on a wooden door. "Come in," said a woman's cheerful voice, and they entered.  
  
Hoshi, looking much better than she had yesterday, was propped against a set of pillows, dressed in a white nightgown. Éowyn, one arm in a sling, sat near the bed, as well as Faramir, who looked slightly pale still, and Gandalf, who was the picture of health as always.  
  
"Slug-a-bed, have you had a nice lie-in?" said the old wizard teasingly.  
  
"I have, and I hope you've not eaten all the breakfast," Malcolm retorted.  
  
"Of course not," said Gandalf. "Our good hobbit here did it for me."  
  
"I did not!" cried Merry. Hoshi and Éowyn both laughed. Faramir rolled his eyes.  
  
"After talking to this rascal for a few days," he said to Malcolm, "I have decided two things. One, hobbits are admirable creatures, and two, never, ever let them near your kitchens." But he smiled as he said it, getting up stiffly and bowing to Malcolm. There was a tray of food sitting on the table behind him, and he beckoned to the wizard, who fell to gladly.  
  
They had a good party going for a while, until Gandalf caught Faramir's deep yawn and sent him, Éowyn, and Merry off to bed with a stern reprimand. Malcolm bade them goodnight and sat with Hoshi until she fell asleep, holding her hand and looking at her face, hardly believing he had actually succeeded in rescuing her.  
  
How guilt-stricken he had felt yesterday, upon seeing her. She was a wraith, a pale shadow of her former self. She had lost weight, and her bones showed through the skin. Bruises and cuts marred her skin, and her eyes had had deep, dark shadows under them. The rest of her skin looked pale and parched, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. He shuddered softly at the thought. If he had not found her in time, she would certainly have died.  
  
"She fought very hard against Sauron," said Gandalf softly, standing in the doorway. Malcolm wondered how long he had been there. He gently put Hoshi's hand down at her side. She mumbled in her sleep and turned over as he tiptoed out of the room. "She resisted more than many, though it was not until the last that he turned his full attention on her."  
  
"I could not resist him," said Malcolm, almost bitterly. "He had my mind within seconds."  
  
"But he spared his full attention to you in that instant," said Gandalf comfortingly. "Hoshi spent long enough under his influence that she grew stronger, and even then he did not think her enough of a threat to give her his full attention."  
  
"He's gone, anyway, and that's all that matters," said Malcolm. "Frodo succeeded."  
  
"Yes, he did," said Gandalf, smiling more widely than Malcolm had ever seen him smile. "Against all odds, he did what he had to."  
  
Malcolm nodded, and they walked in silence for a moment, looking up at the dark sky above. "And what will you do now, tórdilthen? For you have rescued your companion, and Sauron is defeated. Shadowfax brought the palantír of the White Tower back from Mordor. You can go home again," said Gandalf after a time.  
  
"I...I can..." said Malcolm, hesitantly, for in truth he did not know what he wanted. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall near them, remembering Enterprise and the captain and Trip and T'Pol and Travis and Phlox and even Major Hayes. But he thought of Aragorn and Pippin and Legolas and Gimli and Merry as well, and Éowyn and Éomer and Faramir.  
  
Gandalf was sitting on a porch across the street from him when he finally opened his eyes. "I do not know which to choose," Malcolm said, his voice cracking. "I would stay here, but I would not like to abandon my friends on my ship, either."  
  
The old wizard looked at him carefully. "You have become a part of this world," he said softly. "But there is a greater part that comes from something else. Could you give that up? You had a purpose here, my friend, but you had one there as well. And though your task here is done, you still have a task to perform in your other world."  
  
He stood up and stared upwards at the stars. "Do you know what I saw in Frodo's mind when I looked into it, before I left him in Cormallen with Aragorn's company? On the slope of Mount Doom he could barely climb. He was close to giving up, and Sam as well, and then from somewhere they found renewed strength. They could go on. And he went on, and reached the Cracks of Doom."  
  
Gandalf fixed his gaze on Malcolm. "You and Hoshi fought Sauron at that moment, fought to stop him gaining a tool through the palantír that he could have used against us all, whether the Ring was destroyed or not. He could not weigh down the Ring and slow the hobbits down at that moment. You gave them the opportunity to do what they must." He put out a hand and gripped the younger wizard's shoulder. "And now that the war is over, what will you do? Your people must be given an opportunity to save themselves from the threat that looms over them."  
  
Malcolm bowed his head. "You speak truth," he said. "But it is very difficult, Gandalf, to leave behind your friends. And though this world was not my own, it has become dear to me. I would like to know it better."  
  
"You have a little time, I think, before you must go back to your own world," said Gandalf.  
  
"I could stay here," Malcolm said quietly. "There are others who would do what I would. There are others who could defend the ship." He thought of Major Hayes and the MACOs, of his own armory crew, and though he trusted and respected all of their abilities, still he felt a twinge of guilt leaving them without direction.  
  
Gandalf shrugged slowly. "It is your choice, my friend, and I would speak falsely if I said I did not wish you to stay and be a part of this world." A great weariness seemed to settle about his face, his eyes gazing off into the distance. "And yet I myself will linger only a little longer."  
  
"What does that mean?" whispered Malcolm.  
  
"The Sea calls to us all," said Gandalf. A smell of salt air, drifting on the breeze, reached Malcolm's nose, and the duality within him struggled as it had not for many days; one part rejoiced, and the other recoiled. "The Undying Lands bring us home." The older wizard gazed out towards the west, where Malcolm knew the seas to lay. "From the Grey Havens white ships will set sail, taking away at last the elder peoples of Middle-earth. Those weary of soul and spirit will find new life across the Seas. They will follow the Straight Road and they shall pass away from Middle-earth."  
  
"I don't understand," he replied slowly. "I don't understand what the Undying Lands are, though I remember them."  
  
"Ah, but it changes when you have had a taste of the mortal existence, Elowë," said Gandalf. "You become something different, something greater than spirit and flesh... It is not something that can be explained in words."  
  
He heard the cry of the gull overhead, though they were some distance from the Sea, and wondered at it. A cloud scudded across the sky, the wind blowing from the west, and Gandalf breathed in deeply. "Someday you will come to realize what that means, tórdilthen," he said. "Someday you will know that the end of your journey draws near, and when it is time for you to move on. You will know, and you will follow the Straight Road." Their eyes met, blue to blue, young to old, and Malcolm shivered, a deep sorrow filling his chest. "Do you think you are ready to follow that road, my friend?"  
  
"I do not, Gandalf," whispered Malcolm, so softly that he barely heard himself. The wizard-sense within him grasped at the paths of the future, wondering where each led, and none did he see himself in Middle-earth... at least, none in Middle-earth where he was happy. On Enterprise he still had a task to fulfill, and he must not abandon it.  
  
"I do not want to go, Gandalf," said Malcolm with a choked sob. "I must, though."  
  
The old wizard said nothing, merely putting an arm about the younger wizard's shoulders, and together they stood on the streets of Minas Tirith until the sun came up, casting brilliant rays of purple and gold across the sky.  
  
A new dawn—for a new world. And it broke Malcolm's heart to leave it.  
  
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He went back to see Hoshi when the sun had risen high above the mountains. He had not slept, but he was not tired. His long rest the day before had served to rejuvenate him well enough.  
  
She was sitting up in bed again, picking at breakfast. "It seems strange to eat again," she said. "I had food in the Black Tower, but I don't really remember eating it. Just bits and pieces keep coming back to me, Malcolm."  
  
He sat down next to her on the bed, moving the tray out of the way. "It's probably better that way," he said. "Do you really want to remember that place?"  
  
Hoshi cocked her head at him. "In some ways I want to block it from my memory totally," she said. "And in others, I want to remember. I want to keep that from ever happening again. I lost too much of my time to Sauron's machinations. I don't want to be so out of control of my own mind again, ever."  
  
"I doubt you'll meet anyone like Sauron ever again," replied Malcolm, and hoped desperately that it was true. "And you grew strong enough to resist him in the end. You'll be strong enough to fight anyone else that tries something like that."  
  
She looked at him with those deep black eyes of hers, shrewd as always. "What's wrong?" she said, taking his hand in her own.  
  
"I know you haven't had the best of times here," said Malcolm wryly, looking away. "I have to bring you home, back to Enterprise where it's safe and where you'll be happy." He took a deep breath. "We both need to go back."  
  
Hoshi smiled, a radiant grin that lit up her entire face. "You have a way to bring us home, Malcolm? That's wonderful!" She sobered abruptly, staring at him. "But you don't want... you don't want to go?"  
  
He opened his mouth to deny it, but could not stop the truth from spilling out. "Hoshi, I was at home on Enterprise. And yet, I feel at home here, too. I feel as though I could come to be part of this world. Maybe I already am." He gave her a sad smile. "I see the beauty of this place and I want to keep it forever."  
  
She looked at him, sorrow in her eyes. "But," said Malcolm slowly, "I think about Enterprise, and I have a purpose there. We were never supposed to be here, really. We both belong on Enterprise, and as much as I would like to stay, I could never forget about the people on that ship. It is my home, Hoshi; as much as this place could come to be my home, Enterprise already is."  
  
"Oh, Malcolm," said Hoshi. "We were supposed to be here, whatever you may think. We may ride in the shadows of the great ones, but we were supposed to be here. And—and—I would not go back to Enterprise without you there." She threw her arms around his neck and wept softly into his shirt.  
  
With a soft exahalation he lifted her chin and wiped the tears from her cheeks, but he could not stop them from falling down his own. The salt mingled together on their lips, bitter and sweet at the same time. Malcolm drew his arms around her, simply holding his Hoshi, vaguely wondering if this was a dream, and if it was, then he did not care.  
  
She drew back from him after a long silence and met his eyes and said simply, "Let's go home, Malcolm."  
  
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They rode out two days later, Gandalf, Merry, Malcolm, and Hoshi, waving goodbye to Faramir and Éowyn, who had elected to stay in Minas Tirith to await the king. They took their time about the ride, taking a leisurely three days to reach the campsite on the fields of Cormallen.  
  
Merry was put to work at once, and Gandalf immediately went to visit the still-sleeping Sam and Frodo, so Hoshi and Malcolm were left to wander about on their own time. The camp was lush and green and beautiful, so they merely enjoyed it, spending time with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, and the two hobbits when they were freed from their duties. They wandered the hills of Ithilien, marveling at the beauty of the countryside, and lounged about the camp, enjoying the days of relaxation that had been so long in coming. Nearly two months had passed since their arrival here, and they never had managed to get in any shore leave. And of course, at times they escaped from the others and went off on their own time, Gimli giving them knowing and infuriating looks when he caught them slipping away from the campsite at night.  
  
Malcolm stood next to Hoshi at the celebrations for the Ring-bearers, watching with some amusement as Frodo and Sam were honored, the two hobbits seeming rather uncomfortable with the whole thing. When the feasting began he took Hoshi's hand and whispered, "It's time for us to go."  
  
They went out, sticking to the shadows, and rode away from the camp in the darkness, the lanterns soon only distant pinpricks of light in the black night. He knew where he was going, and soon the rushing of the river Anduin met their ears, and they rode along it for a long time without speaking, the horses running faster than horses should be able to (courtesy of Malcolm), until at last they came to the Sea as the morning light peeked out from the mountains at their backs.  
  
They dismounted and took the saddles from the horses, letting them free. "They will return to the camp by the afternoon," said Malcolm, going across the long empty beach to the very edge of the water. In him some deep part sang at the beauty of the waves lapping at the shore, and the crying of the gulls above. He took off his boots and walked into the sea, feeling for the first time in his life no fear at the sight of so much water.  
  
From his bag he took the palantír and bade Hoshi come near, and with her hand atop his on the smooth surface of the seeing stone they both thought of Enterprise and the time far in the future from which they had traveled.  
  
The dawn lightened and the sky grew streaked with purple and orange, and as the sun peeked from behind the eastern mountains, Malcolm felt himself pulled away, whirling out of thought and time and into the great wheeling sea of stars. On and on they traveled, never parting hands, until they at last fell to the ground under an afternoon sun. Hoshi sighed and laid back upon the sand, unconscious, and Malcolm looked out to the sea.  
  
:I leave you now,: said a voice, and he raised his eyes to see a shining figure before him, made of silver light and sunbeams. :Goodbye, Malcolm Reed. May the grace of the Valar touch you. The Road beckons you onward, my friend and my self.:  
  
For a moment Malcolm gazed at the silver being, who had his own face, and then blackness began to tug at his consciousness, where a sense of indescribable loss filled his heart. He clutched the palantír to him even as he fell back to the sand, and would not let go until a figure in a blue jumpsuit took it forcibly from his fingers, and unconsciousness overwhelmed him completely.  
  
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I think this was the hardest chapter to write, because I didn't want to bring Malcolm back to Enterprise either... but it wouldn't work out right if I didn't. Still a little more to come, so keep an eye out for it. 


	21. The Road Goes Ever On

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
A/N: Oy...I take back what I said last chapter. I had to rewrite this one four times before it felt right. This was definitely the hardest to write.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Chapter Twenty-One: The Road Goes Ever On  
  
There still he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth, and the sound of them sank deep into his heart.  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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"Begin log recording."  
  
The computer beeped.  
  
"It has been a very strange few days. First, my armory officer and my communications officer disappear into thin air, and send us on a wild goose chase across an alien world, and then I see ghostly visions of them in varying places. I even saw Lieutenant Reed rise from the dead."  
  
Archer stopped, shuddering. That was something he would definitely like to put out of his memory.  
  
"And early this morning, I found a mysterious staircase leading deep into the bowels of the earth. I heard a voice—Malcolm Reed's voice—calling me, so I descended. I really can't say why I went down there alone and unarmed, but I did, and at the bottom..."  
  
He paused again. How to put this into words? It sounded... illogical, to use T'Pol's favorite phrase. It sounded crazy.  
  
"At the bottom," he said hesitantly, "I found Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato. But—they were intangible. Like spirits. My hand went right through them. I don't really understand what happened down there. I don't think I've ever seen Malcolm look so—so strange. At first it was like he was a completely different person. Hoshi was screaming in pain and Malcolm was just standing there, and then it was like something in the room snapped and they both came out of it all of a sudden."  
  
He knew he was not making himself clear, but he could not think how else to phrase what he had seen. He was not entirely sure that he had seen what he had seen anyway, down in that deep dark room. How had it survived whatever blast had taken down the rest of the tower?  
  
"I've never seen Lieutenant Reed look so terrified," Archer continued, his voice shaking a little. "And then he turned and looked right at me for the first time, and said, 'I'm sorry, sir. Go back to Enterprise.' The stone he had been holding—he flung it against the wall and it shattered and they disappeared completely. I have the pieces of the stone, but T'Pol can't make head or tail of it. She says it's like the scanners won't acknowledge that it is exists.  
  
"That isn't the strangest part of the story, though. We went back to the ship. I thought Malcolm had destroyed whatever it was that had taken them away, so I called off the search, believing—believing that they were lost to us forever. I had T'Pol run one last scan before we left orbit, just a few hours ago." He paused and looked down at Porthos, who was calmly fast asleep in his basket, the tip of his tail twitching faintly. "Just human illogic, I suppose.  
  
"But we found something. Two human biosigns on the west coast of the continent. Two human biosigns—and everyone aboard Enterprise well and accounted for. We sent down a shuttlepod immediately."  
  
His voice broke again, but he didn't care. "I have no clue how they got there, or why they were dressed in such strange clothes. I have no clue why Phlox says Hoshi has lost more weight than should be possible in four days. Malcolm has scars on his chest and thigh that are healed over, something impossible to do in only four days. And both of them are showing simple signs of growth and change—hair, nails, things like that, Phlox will have a more detailed analysis—that couldn't happen in four days. He says it's consistent with patterns for—and here's the really strange part—a little over sixty days.  
  
"So wherever they were, whatever happened to them, they were there for a long time," Archer murmured, reaching down to scratch Porthos' head. "Phlox refuses to wake them up yet... I, and the whole rest of the ship, am very curious about what exactly went on down on that planet."  
  
He looked out at the stars streaking past the window in a blaze of white and black ribbon. The ship at warp hummed softly beneath his feet. "I for one," he added, "am glad to leave that planet, whatever may have happened down there.  
  
"Computer, end log."  
  
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To all appearances Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato slipped right back into their old lives—and to the crew of the Enterprise, they had only been gone for a few days. There was no 'old life' about it. Hoshi had an easier time of it, perhaps due to the time she had 'spent' on Enterprise while a prisoner of Sauron, but neither of them would have called any part of the readjustment easy.  
  
It wasn't that they weren't glad to be home. And it wasn't that they didn't remember their duties or how to get around the ship.  
  
The simplest tasks were different. Muscles used to riding and walking everywhere cramped when sitting at a console all shift. The food, even Chef's fine cuisine, tasted wrong after two months of eating medieval-style fare. Ears used to hearing Common Speech found English odd-sounding and tongues had to work to respond in the correct language. They found it hard to sleep on the Starfleet-issue beds, missing both the plump feather mattresses of Edoras and Minas Tirith and the hard ground of various encampments.  
  
And after being in the wide-open spaces of Middle-earth, Malcolm especially found the ship close and a little claustrophobic.   
  
Hoshi had finally dropped off to sleep, her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair absently as he stared up at the dark ceiling. He couldn't actually see it, but he knew it was there, no matter how hard he tried to pretend it wasn't.  
  
Hoshi stirred on his arm; he stilled and waited, but she did not awaken. Carefully he slid out from under her and slipped out of bed, feeling his joints loosen as he moved. He padded down the corridors to the mess hall, not really hungry but wanting to wander. Vaguely he thought of the report he had turned in to Captain Archer that morning and wondered just how much of it the captain would believe.  
  
The stars were streaking past the window when he reached the mess, the captain having wasted no time getting away from Middle-earth. Arda, Malcolm recalled with some flash of leftover knowledge from Elowë, the name of the planet was Arda, but likely no one except him would ever call it that.  
  
For the thousandth time since returning to Enterprise he wondered what had happened to the people of Middle-earth. The Elves were leaving already, he knew, but what about all the others? It seemed to him unlikely that they'd all merely died out.  
  
Nothing in the cabinets looked appetizing, so he merely poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at one of the tables nearest the windows. No one else was hungry at this hour; it appeared not even the night shift wanted a snack. He didn't mind. At times it was difficult to talk to people, because the work and the gossip all seemed to him to be long past bothering about. Yet everything was as he had left it.  
  
If things had changed, Malcolm mused, staring into the brown depths of his tea, he could have dealt better. He felt as though he had changed, but the world he had returned to was still the same, and it no longer quite fit as seamlessly as it once had.  
  
The door opened with a whoosh. Malcolm didn't turn around as whoever it was walked in, and when a hand gripped his shoulder a moment later he jumped in surprise.  
  
"Some crazy shore leave," said Trip, taking a seat across from him.  
  
Malcolm smiled wryly. "Agreed," he said, sipping at his tea. He didn't meet Trip's eyes, suddenly terrified at the questions his friend would ask and the inevitable incomprehension that would follow. He knew it was illogical—he shouldn't be afraid to tell Trip anything—but he couldn't help it.  
  
"I read your report," said the commander, tossing a PADD on the table. "Interesting stuff. Reads more like a fantasy novel than a Starfleet report, really."  
  
Malcolm looked at the PADD. "I know," he said. "But it's what happened. It's like Marco Polo coming back from China—it's only a little of what I saw. The rest—you wouldn't believe it at all."  
  
"I'd have a hard time believing any of it," said Trip, "if I hadn't seen you disappear into thin air spouting a lot of drivel about your reckoning and a Black Tower."  
  
He looked up and met Trip's eyes at last. "I'd forgotten about that," said Malcolm. "A lot happened at Helm's Deep, and it was a bit much to take in at times." He'd edited his report carefully, knowing that a sudden transmogrification into an Istari and a Maia called Elowë sounded a bit too crazy for anyone here to take it seriously.  
  
"You chose to stay there," said Trip accusingly. "Jon told me—he said before I got out there you had a hole in your chest the size of a fist. And you got up and came back to life somehow and when he ordered you to stay you refused. Could you have come back to our time, our universe, whatever, then?"  
  
Malcolm thought back, considering. "Probably," he admitted. "That's a bit hazy. I did die, after all."  
  
"And you didn't come back then?" Trip's tone was dark and Malcolm looked up at his friend in surprise. "You'd rather stay in some strange world full of Elves and Dwarves and crazy flaming Eyes?"  
  
"I could have stayed!" Malcolm cried, the vehemence in his voice surprising himself as much as Trip. "I told you at Helm's Deep that I had to fulfill a task... that I couldn't leave yet. I had to rescue Hoshi! If I hadn't gotten her that entire world would have fallen! Sauron would have overcome her and gotten control of the captain and the ship, and taken over Middle- earth!"  
  
He stopped abruptly, catching a glimpse of the astonished look on Trip's face. "I'm sorry, Trip," he said, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper.  
  
The engineer's face softened and he shook his head. "I have no idea what you really went through, Mal," he said. "I got the feeling, reading your report, that a lot more happened than what you said."  
  
"I wanted to stay there," said Malcolm, his voice breaking. "But Gandalf was right, I am more needed here than there. I would have been happy there, but I wouldn't have been doing anything except fading away into the shadows."  
  
Trip reached across and gripped his forearm. "Hey," he said. "I'm sorry. Twice you appeared and we thought you two were dead and never coming back."  
  
"I did come back, though," said Malcolm, looking at the half-empty teacup.  
  
He looked up at Trip and felt a lump in his throat as the engineer's face broke into a grin. "That you did, buddy, that you did."  
  
Malcolm returned the smile, suddenly feeling more at home on Enterprise than he had since returning. "It's good to be back," he said. "Really."  
  
"Bet you're glad you rescued Hoshi," said Trip, his eyebrows going up suggestively. "Since she's not sleeping in her own cabin..."  
  
Malcolm's mouth dropped open. They'd been very discreet, but obviously not enough. "And just how do you know that, Commander? Should I add Peeping Tom to your list of credentials, Mr. Tucker?"  
  
"I have my ways, Mr. Reed," said Trip, grinning more widely than ever. "Especially when I page your quarters and Hoshi answers by saying, 'He's not here, Trip, and I'm trying to sleep!' only with a few choice words added on that I didn't know a lady like Hoshi even knew."  
  
Malcolm snorted with laughter. "And she was the one who suggested not calling attention to it," he said through chuckles. "Why were you paging my quarters at 0200 in the morning anyway?"  
  
"T'Pol turned these over to me after she finished with her scans," said Trip, picking a square case up from the floor that Malcolm hadn't noticed until now. He opened it and pulled out a smooth black ball, shining with some incandescent inner light. "She can't get a darned thing on them at all and she wanted me to take a look. I didn't get anything either, but I guess it doesn't really matter now that we're away from that planet. I thought you might want it back, since you were holding it when we found you." He turned the palantír over in his hands once more and handed it to Malcolm, looking a little sheepish. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't really thinking about the time."  
  
"It's all right," said Malcolm, gazing at the stone. There was nothing at all there, not even Denethor's burning hands. Though the faint light still shone from within, the stone was as good as dead.  
  
"It's not going to transport someone else back into the past, is it?" asked Trip, a faint hint of worry crossing his features.  
  
"No," said Malcolm absently. "It's pretty much dead now, I think." He stared into its depths for a long moment, hardly noticing as Trip got up and took three more pieces of a broken palantír from the case.  
  
"The captain brought this back from that Black Tower of yours after you smashed it," Trip said. "Don't stay up too late, Malcolm."  
  
"I won't," he replied, looking up at the commander. "Just going to finish my tea. I'll see you in the morning, Trip."  
  
"Night, Malcolm," Trip said, nodding to him. He left the mess hall, Malcolm hardly noticing as the door opened and closed once more to let the engineer out.  
  
Gently he ran his hands across the smooth surface of the palantír, hardly believing that it was real, and nearly dropped it in shock when the inner light brightened and a ghostly image shone within its depths.  
  
Aragorn crowned, the white flowers of the Tree falling across the Courtyard as the citizens of Gondor cheered. Faramir and Éowyn clasped hand in hand, Legolas and Gimli applauding as Aragorn swept a dark-haired Elf into a passionate kiss... The White City gleaming as the people rebuilt after the damage of the siege... Gandalf riding with the King and Queen and the hobbits... the Kingdom flourishing and growing under Aragorn's long rule...  
  
A ship, leaving a harbor—Frodo and Gandalf standing on the deck, looking toward the west—the Elves departing Middle-earth and following the Straight Road, away from Middle-earth and away from the mortal life of Men...  
  
He rushed onward through the history of the Reunited Kingdom, as king after king ruled in prosperity and the race of Men flourished and grew strong once more, as thousands and thousands of years passed... as the Dwarves delved in their mountains and the Ents quietly disappeared into the shadows of time and the Hobbits lived quietly in the Shire...  
  
And after a time the Dwarves began to follow the Elves, passing from Middle- earth... the Hobbits went next, their love of gardens and order finally overcome by a longing for farther shores, the taste for adventure begun by Bilbo and Frodo finally manifesting itself in the population at large... finally the race of Men looked to the West and began to build ships.  
  
Malcolm watched as the very last ship left Middle-earth, the people on it looking to the horizon, and felt his heart cry out in sorrow for the now empty land, once a marvelous place and now bereft of all the people which had once made it so beautiful. But he also rejoiced, for he knew deep in his spirit that this was right. Wherever the Straight Road led, he knew that it was good, that it was meant, that all the people of Middle-earth should finally take it one day.  
  
He closed his eyes and put the palantírs, one whole and one broken, back in the case. With a smile on his lips, he closed the lid and picked up the case. With a last look out the window, he drank the last of his tea and left the mess hall, the case tucked firmly under his arm.  
  
He walked out of the turbolift and at last turned down the corridor to his room, and so came back to his room as the clock turned to 0300. And he went in, and there was a dim light on for him, and Hoshi smiled a sleepy hello as he slipped under the covers, curling up against his stomach, and put his arms around her with a sleepy sigh.  
  
He smiled in the darkness, tightening his embrace. "Well, I'm back," he said.  
  
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	22. Epilogue

Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
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THE SHADOW RIDERS  
  
Epilogue  
  
In western lands beneath the Sun  
The flowers may rise in Spring,  
The trees may bud, the waters run,  
The merry finches sing.  
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
And swaying beeches bear  
The Elven-stars as jewels white  
Amid their branches fair.  
  
Though here at journey's end I lie  
In darkness buried deep,  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
Beyond all mountains steep,  
Above all shadows rides the Sun,  
And Stars for ever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
Nor bid the Stars farewell.  
  
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings  
  
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He stood alone on the shore, the waves lapping at his feet, and looked out over the water to the horizon. The sun drew close to the boundary between water and sky, lighting up the clouds with brilliant streaks of red and gold like tongues of flame licking across the firmament, and the sight brought tears to the old man's eyes.  
  
In one hand he held a smooth, round stone, glimmering with some inexplicable light, and in the other he carried a photograph of a man and woman on their long-ago wedding day, their faces alight with joy. He remembered the ceremony with a surge of joy, and a tinge of sadness that the woman in the picture no longer stood beside him. They had spoken their wedding vows in a language known to no one else in the universe and worn a suit and dress like no other in their time.  
  
Their days had been long and filled with love and laughter, with friends and children. But at last the beautiful fellowship had come to an end, as all things must, and he had known that his tasks were complete, and an end was come of the story and song of their times.  
  
He looked out to the sea, and on the waters there appeared a white ship, coming swiftly over the waves. He waited as it approached the shore, and waded out to meet it, leaving the black stone on the sand behind him.  
  
"You have been a long time coming, tórdilthen," said the figure who held out a hand for him to clamber over the rail.  
  
"But I have come after all," he replied, bowing low. And he saw upon the other's hand that a Ring shone, with a stone as red as fire, and he was glad to know that this one was taking ship with him.  
  
"All is now ready," said the shipmaster, coming forth to greet them. Very tall he was, and his beard was long, and he was grey and old, save that his eyes were keen as stars; and he looked at them and bowed.  
  
"The Road goes ever on and on," the old man replied, looking once more at the picture in his hand and then turning his eyes to the West.  
  
"It has waited for you," said the other. "At last all who dwelt in Middle- earth shall cross the Straight Road, and after our passing the way shall be shut forever. Let us go in peace. I will not say, my friend, do not weep, for not all tears are evil."  
  
And indeed, the old man blinked away a tear as the shore drew farther away; the sails were drawn up, and the wind blew, and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth; and the light of the palantír on the beach glimmered and was lost.  
  
And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain the old man smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the song of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.  
  
On the shore the palantîr lay as the evening deepened into darkness, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shore of Middle-earth, from which no boat ever again set sail, and from which the Straight Road never again bore a rider in its shadow.  
  
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I would like to thank everyone who reviewed this story and stuck with it for the long haul. Your comments were very much appreciated and welcomed.  
  
All the information about Middle-earth was taken from The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Sauron Defeated, Tolkien: The Illustrated Encyclopedia, and The Atlas of Middle-earth, the latter two of which are excellent resources for information about all things Tolkien. Movie dialogue was taken from the excellent transcripts at www.seatofkings.net, which I highly recommend as they are very accurate and well-done. 


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